


Just Too Bad

by eena



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Challenge Response, Crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-18
Updated: 2007-04-18
Packaged: 2019-02-05 17:19:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12798855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eena/pseuds/eena
Summary: She missed a step, and then missed a lot more . . .





	1. Chapter 1  Watch Your Step

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Haven, the archivist: This story was originally archived at [Fandom Haven Story Archive (FHSA)](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Fandom_Haven_Story_Archive), was scheduled to shut down at the end of 2016. To preserve the archive, I began working with the OTW to transfer the stories to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2017. If you are this creator and the work hasn't transferred to your AO3 account, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Fandom Haven Story Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/fhsa/profile).

  
Author's notes: Response to “Waking Up To The Married Life”� challenge  


* * *

“I told you to watch your step.”

 

Cassie, again. Cassie, which was short for Cassandra. It was a lovely name, with tragic implications. There was a sorrow with that name, one that would haunt its bearers down through the ages.

 

“They didn’t believe you back then, did they?”

 

“I’m not meant to be believed, even if I’m always right. I think it’s the universe’s idea of a running gag. Gets funnier every time they see it.”

 

She blinked and frowned when she found herself staring up at a cloudless night sky. The stars were blinking brightly and innocently, like they didn’t know what Cassie was carrying on about. Or maybe they did, and they didn’t believe her. It would fit the pattern. “It doesn’t seem to be that mean.”

 

A lock of purple hair has flown away from the mass of blonde tresses and the girl pushes it back behind her ear with an annoyed expression on her face. “I should have died with a scrunchie. This is getting to be so tedious.”

 

She noticed that her statement went ignored. “It can’t be the universe.”

 

Cassie looks kind of sad. “What else could it be?”

 

“You tell me.”

 

“You won’t believe me, remember?”

 

“Oh right.”

 

There was an awkward silence. She just went back to looking up at the night sky and the bright little stars. She frowned and wondered where the moon had gotten to. Shouldn’t it be right there, where it always is?

 

“You’re not where you always are, so why should it be there?” Cassie was sitting cross-legged on the grass, head tilted all the way back so she could see the same stars. It would be far more comfortable for her to just lie on her back and look up at them, but it probably wouldn’t make much of a difference to Cassie.

 

“Comfort is irrelevant once you’re dead.”

 

Cassie nodded and continued to stare at the sky. She went back to doing the same. The moon had reappeared. She was taking that as a good sign.

 

“Optimism isn’t going to get you through anything right now. You’re much better off being pessimistic. It’s not uplifting, but a lot more realistic.”

 

“Why do you keep suggesting things? You know I’m not going to listen.”

 

“I can hope.”

 

“Well, you wouldn’t be practicing what you preach.”

 

“Hey, I’ve got an eternity of these little interactions to look forward to; you might not live not the next few hours. I think someone in for the long haul needs more uplifting than anyone else.”

 

“Rationalizations are tedious too, you know.”

 

“You weren’t this annoying back there.”

 

“How would you know? You died before I met you.”

 

“I died before I met a lot of people. Didn’t mean I didn’t know them.”

 

“You’re getting philosophical. Or kind of stalker like. I’m not sure which frightens me more.”

 

“The philosophy should get you. It’s got a mind of its own.”

 

“But it’s malleable. I can shape it to make it what I want.”

 

There was a short, bitter laugh. “That’s the biggest lie ever told. You don’t shape philosophy-it shapes you. And tricks you, like Coyote. Never take it at face value-it’ll just take the opportunity to smack you on the mouth.”

 

“I’m starting to think some of this being-dead nonsense has embittered you.”

 

“I’m not embittered. I’m not anything. I’m not even here, if you really want to get down to it. You know this is just a hallucination, right?”

 

“I would classify it more as a dream. Maybe even a prophetic dream.”

 

Another bitter laugh. “You’re no Slayer, honey, so I’d just forget about that prophetic thing. Besides, it’s not the greatest thing in the world. Most of the time the message isn’t figured out until the last possible second-so you can’t change it.”

 

“Maybe you aren’t meant to change it. Maybe it’s always been about changing you.”

 

“Did I just warn you against the philosophical?”

 

“Yeah, but no one listens to you, remember?”

 

Cassie didn’t say anything, but her face betrayed her emotions. She was getting kind of annoyed.

 

“Where are the others?”

 

“Not here. They watched their step.”

 

“Probably because you didn’t tell them to.”

 

“Are you going to be this disagreeable throughout?”

 

“Depends. Throughout what?”

 

“The hallucination.”

 

She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t like calling it that.”

 

“That’s what it is.”

 

“Why am I hallucinating you?”

 

“Maybe I’m hallucinating you, ever think of that?”

 

She paused for a second. “No, not really.”

 

Cassie sighed in exasperation. “You’re a lot more self-centred than Buffy led me to believe.”

 

“Am not.”

 

“Are not.”

 

“You’re not a very nice hallucination.”

 

“Scary thing is, I’m the nicest thing that’s going to happen to you in the next little while.”

 

“Can’t hardly wait.”

 

“Sarcasm isn’t good for the soul.”

 

“Neither is being catapulted into a galaxy far, far away.”

 

And then Cassie laughed. “Oh hell, you aren’t that far away. Hell, you aren’t far at all. Just a few steps over, in the same galaxy mind you.”

 

She frowned. “Isn’t it like a law that when you miss your step, you wind up in an alternate dimension?”

 

“No. Where’d you come up with that stupid theory?”

 

She shrugged. “Just seems to be the way most things go.”

 

“Look, dropping into another dimension isn’t exactly something you can do by accident. If it was, no one would be in the right place, ever!”

 

“That would be inconvenient.”

 

“To say the least.”

 

“So what now?”

 

“Now we sit here and wait for it.”

 

“Wait for what?”

 

“It.”

 

“You’re not a helpful person by nature, are you?”

 

“I’m very helpful. I’m so helpful that it hurts. It’s just that no one listens to me when I’m being helpful. And then when everything comes around to bite them on the ass, they accuse me of being unhelpful.”

 

“That’s tragic.”

 

“That’s reality.”

 

“How can it be reality if this is a hallucination?”

 

Cassie gave a shrug. “Don’t ask me how the system works.”

 

She was feeling a headache coming on. “Can’t we at least discuss what happens now?”

 

“Why? So you can ignore me like before?”

 

“What happened to your hope?”

 

“It decreases with my annoyance. Damn it’s cold out here.”

 

“Should have died with a jacket on.”

 

Cassie chuckled dryly. “Yeah, should have. And you know, I knew it was coming too, so I probably should have thought of all these things before.”

 

“Probably didn’t see this messenger thingy at that time.”

 

“No, you’re right. This gig was a surprise. One I could have done without, mind you.”

 

Then they were quiet again. She looked back to the night sky, saw the stars and the moon, and realized that everything was back in its place.

 

“Time to go?”

 

Cassie nodded. “Time to go. You won’t remember much, but time has passed. And things have changed. There’s a ton of new people, new enemies, and new problems. You’re going to break a lot of hearts, if you’re not careful.”

 

“Hearts? Why would I break hearts? It’s not exactly something I’m known for.”

 

“I didn’t say you would do it on purpose. Just if you’re not careful. Like I said before, new people. New people, and new relationships, ones that you could mess up really bad if you don’t watch what you say. And what you do. Just remember, they’re not there to hurt you. Unless it’s an enemy, then they will hurt you.”

 

“How am I supposed to know the difference?”

 

Cassie shrugged again. “You just will, I guess. But be careful. He’s got a rough exterior, but he can be hurt. And you’re one of the only ones who could hurt him enough to break him.”

 

“You’re not talking about Xander, are you?”

 

“Nope.”

 

She ponders for a moment. “Spike?”

 

Another chuckle. “No.”

 

“Giles? Angel? Connor? Gunn? Oz? Riley?”

 

“Nope, nope, nope, nope, nope, and nope.”

 

She screwed up her face and played her last card. “Andrew?”

 

And there was just laughter, no confirmation or denial, but she was taking that to mean she wasn’t on the button with that last one. Well, she didn’t think she would be, but she was out of men at that point. “Then who?”

 

“I already told you, someone new.”

 

“Can I get a name?”

 

“Why? You won’t remember this later.”

 

“I won’t? Why not?”

 

“Because I don’t have time to explain and you’re waking up ri-”

 

~*~

 

She was all warm and comfortable. There was a pillow under her head, and though it wasn’t as soft as the one at home, it was okay. The bed itself was kind of hard, but the covers were wound tight around her and she was nice and cozy.

 

At least she had been, until she started waking up. Then her mind became more conscious and began telling her that things were out of place. First, though she had guessed it wasn’t her bed at first, her mind was starting to wonder how in the hell had she ended up in a bed that wasn’t her own. If she wasn’t in Cleveland, then where was she?

 

Secondly, why wasn’t she feeling any clothes at the moment? Regardless of where she was, she always wore pyjamas to bed. Usually her Scooby Doo ones, but she had a nice Tiny Toons one as well. Point was, she wasn’t wearing either at the moment. Actually, she wasn’t wearing anything right now. Why was she naked?

 

And thirdly, but most alarming, was the fact that there was someone in bed with her. She hadn’t really noticed before, but as she started becoming more awake, she became aware of the fact that there was most definitely someone in bed with her. Someone who had a nice, firm chest that was currently pressed up against her back. Someone with a muscular arm that was wound around her waist, her naked waist. Someone with a strong chin that was resting on her shoulder. And someone who was most definitely a male, and a naked male, as was evident by that hardness pressed against the back of her leg. Why was she naked with some guy?

 

Her eyes snapped open and her hand reflexively tightened around the corner of her pillow. The pace of her breathing picked up and all the muscles in her body became tense with fear. She willed herself not to move, not to scream, until she could turn around see who her naked companion was.

 

But she took too long. Almost immediately the person behind her started to move, the arm around her waist tightening for a second as he shifted. His chin left her shoulder, but his chest pushed further against her back. It took her a second to realize that he was pulling her closer as he was rising up a bit. She swallowed the scream that was threatening and turned wide eyes to face her companion.

 

He’s handsome, whoever he is. A very pretty face, dangerously close to being too pretty for a boy. Lovely eyes framed with to-die-for lashes, lips all red and pouty, and stubbly chin that probably could go one or two more days without a shave. He was using his one free hand to rub the sleep out of his eyes, something that he did quickly so that he could level a concerned look down at her.

 

“Everything okay?” he asked, his voice scratchy and deep. She ponders the shiver that went shooting down her spine at the sound of his voice. Slowly, her initial fear is fading, though she’s not sure why. She still doesn’t know who this guy is, and why they’re both naked in a strange bed.

 

“Willow?” This is said with a gentle nudge. Her eyes widened a bit more. So he knows who she is, which means they probably met before this. So why can’t she remember? Did she could on a bender last night and hop into bed with some random person?

 

“Willow, what’s wrong?” The sleep has faded from his eyes. He looked very alert and very worried. His eyes travel down her body before coming back up to her eyes. She realized that he was checking her for any sign of injury. His hands are rough and calloused, but soft in touch as he rests one on her arm. There’s definite worry in his eyes now, and she watches as his eyes go from confusion, to slight panic, and then almost piercing fear. “Willow, what’s wrong?”

 

This time his voice has a slight tinge of fear. It makes her heart constrict, though she can’t tell why. She shook her head, trying to clear her mind of these random thoughts. His hand made his way up to her chin and suddenly he’s cradling her face as gently as possible. “Willow, tell me what’s wrong?”

 

At last, she found her voice. Her mouth opened and the burning question made its way out of her throat. “Who are you?”

 

His eyes betray his disbelief. A disbelief that turns to anger and finally into despair. His face hasn’t changed at all throughout these transformations. But his eyes let her know what he was feeling. And then it was like nothing was there at all. He just shut down, face turning to stone as he pulled away from her. She followed his movements with wide eyes, sitting up with the covers still wrapped firmly around her.

 

And just when she thought he wasn’t going to say anything, he did. She just didn’t understand what he was saying.

 

“So, it finally happened? Dad told me it would; I guess I just thought he was wrong. More like hoped he was wrong. Everything would be fine if I just ignored him. Suppose that’s why people don’t accuse me of being the smart one.”

 

Huh? “Huh?”

 

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye, that face of stone still there. Her stomach twisted at the sight of it.

 

“Can’t delay the inevitable, I guess. I’m Dean. I’m also your husband.”


	2. Chapter 2  Rise And Shine

She laughed.

 

Willow tried to squish the noise in her throat, but the sheer absurdity of the statement took the matter completely out of her hands. She ended up choking on her own chuckle, sputtering quite gracelessly as she did. Of course, that only made her laugh even more, which caused her to go on a giggling spree that lasted for a good minute.

 

Her companion, Dean, was less than amused. He looked at her sharply, that stony expression still on his face, but his eyes were deadly serious. She met his eyes, feelings of amusement fleeing as quickly as they had come. Immediately she felt bad for laughing, a blush starting to creep up her neck as she was forced to think about her situation. And there she was, once again, naked in a strange room, with a strange man, who was claiming to be her husband.

 

“Nuh-uh,” she shook her head, banishing the thought from her mind. “There’s no way. . . I mean, no offence, because I’m sure you’re very nice-hell, you’re very nice looking-but if I had a husband, I would remember it. Especially since the last relationship I had was with a woman-so if I had made the switch back and gotten married to boot-I would remember.”

 

Her verbal avalanche seemed to have little effect on him. He just watched her with that same look, like he was waiting for her to finish her little spaz so he could get on with it. She was starting to get really irritated. Willow huffed as she gathered more of the covers to her, sliding them up higher to drape over her bare shoulders. Her actions caused him to smirk. Of course he had already seen the whole package, as evident by the naked awakening, but that didn’t make her feel any better about it. She tried to observe the room discreetly, hoping to find out where her clothes were so she could get them on and continue this ridiculous conversation in a slightly less awkward position.

 

“We don’t really sleep with clothes on,” he said, interrupting her train of thought. She was startled by the sound of his voice, and then intensely embarrassed as she registered the actual words he was saying. Willow shifted uncomfortably and let her eyes drop down to her lap as her cheeks burned a scarlet red. It was then that she noticed the gold ring on her left hand, residing comfortably on the ring finger. She blinked and willed the image away.

 

It wouldn’t go.

 

“This isn’t happening,” she said softly, almost whispering. “I didn’t get married overnight, it’s not possible.”

 

“True,” he said with a nod. “We’ve been married for about a year and a half now, so definitely not overnight.”

 

A year and a half! Embarrassment gone and now replaced with anger, Willow snapped her head up to glare in the direction of her ‘husband’. “Okay, now I know you’re full of crap!” she growled. “Do you take me for an idiot? I would remember being married for that long! And you obviously don’t know that much about me, because you would realize that a year and a half ago I was too damn busy to have met and married some-”

 

“It’s 2006.”

 

The interruption was short and simple. He didn’t even have to raise his voice. She just stopped mid-sentence, angry words stuck in her throat as she processed this new statement. Her mouth snapped shut and she fell back against the headboard. “That’s even more impossible,” she protested weakly.

 

“I could get you a newspaper, if you like,” his tone going from neutral to peevish in a matter of seconds. He shot her another hard look, face tense as he just stared at her for a couple of moments. Then the peevishness was gone, the stony expression was back, and before he turned away she swore she saw hurt reflected in his eyes.

 

“Listen, I know you don’t remember,” he started slowly, stumbling over the words as if it were painful for him to force them out. He recovered quickly enough, but she noticed it. She noticed a lot of things about him, Willow was discovering. Just from the way he was sitting, the way his elbows were resting on his legs, the slight movement of the muscles in his back let her know that he was apprehensive. She didn’t think she should have this sort of insight about a stranger. And that thought made her stomach churn.

 

This man could not be her husband. She told herself this over and over again as she waited for him to begin explaining. There wasn’t any reason for her to believe him. The whole idea was ludicrous. She would remember getting married, she knew she would. It wasn’t likely something that would slip her mind.

 

And yet . . . She shook her head. She didn’t want to think of any ‘and yets’. She refused to entertain any ‘and yets’. Willow Rosenberg did not have a husband named Dean.

 

“I know you don’t remember,” he began again. “Dad warned me that one day, this would happen. Should have listened to him, but hell, boy can’t always do as his father says.” He turned around for a second to spare her a quick glance. “And you’re well worth the rebellion.”

 

Her stomach wrenched in the most painful manner. She didn’t dare say anything, just watch him with wide eyes and bated breath.

 

“Would it help you to know that we’ve known each for the three years?” he asked, turning his head around so that he was no longer looking at her. “Maybe not. Listen, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do that’s going to make you feel better. Maybe I shouldn’t do anything; there’s a good chance I’ll fuck this up even more. Just don’t go running off before we can talk about this. There’s a lot you probably want to know. I know there’s a lot I want to know. But it’s probably too much right now. Our bags are in the closet. I’m going to get dressed and leave, if you want some privacy.”

 

It was more of a statement than a question, so she didn’t bother responding. He got up and ambled over to the aforementioned closet. Willow had to avert her eyes, getting a gander at her naked supposed-husband was making the blood rush to her face again. She gave him a good five minutes to get dressed and when she dared another look his way, he had on a pair of jeans and was pulling a grey shirt over his head. Their eyes locked for a second, and Willow felt another shiver go down her spine. She looked away again, pondering her reaction to this man once more. The man had an effect on her, that was for certain. And it wasn’t necessarily a bad one. But it was confusing, and came out of nowhere (or so she was assuming) so she wasn’t sure what to make of it.

 

She couldn’t be married to this man. It wasn’t 2006, it was still 2003. She wasn’t supposed to be here, she was supposed to be in Cleveland. She had just spent the last two days hopping from plane to plane, making her way from Rio all the way back to her friends. She was Willow Rosenberg, a witch fresh off a slightly disastrous relationship with a Vampire Slayer, and she was looking forward to Christmas with her family. She was single, she was on a schedule, and she was not married to Dean.

 

Right?

 

“I’ll just go now,” he said, awkwardly pointing to the door. “I’ll find Sammy and we’ll all sit down and just try to figure this out. Okay?”

 

He paused and waited for her to say something. Her mind was overcrowded with too many thoughts, so that it took her a second to realize that he was waiting for an assurance that she would hightail the second he left. So she nodded faintly in agreement, and after a few more seconds of tense silence, Dean departed.

 

As soon as the door shut behind him, Willow all but collapsed. She buried her face in her hands as her brain went into overdrive trying to make sense of her situation. She was coming up with squat, and the sheer frustration of it caused her to pull at her own hair. Her own very long and slightly darker than usual hair.

 

Willow jerked upright, grabbing a fistful of hair and bringing it up to her face for examination. It was most definitely longer than before, considering she had just recently shortened it to chin-length. And the colour wasn’t her usual vibrant red. It was browner, like her hair had been back in junior high, before she had taken to adding highlights.

 

This wasn’t looking too good.

 

She scrambled out of bed, her eyes landing on the phone just beside the television set. Immediately she thought to call one of her friends, most likely Buffy, so that a daring rescue could be made. But as she edged closer to the phone, her mind began protesting that she probably didn’t need a daring rescue right now. Dean seemed trustworthy, though she wasn’t sure what her rebellious brain was basing that theory on. She didn’t know Dean, so how could she be sure she could trust him? The fact that she was ready to do so almost implicitly distressed her a tad bit.

 

And then her brain switched gears and reminded her that she was very naked. She opted to abandon the phone initiative for the moment and find herself some clothes. Hopefully the dressing process would give her time to reflect on her situation and give her some idea about what to do.

 

Rummaging through the closet Dean had indicated earlier, Willow found a pair of bags. One was open, and had both male and female clothes in it. So, they shared a bag too? Willow blinked and scolded herself. Of course they didn’t share a bag. They weren’t married, remember?

 

Her brain warned her not to be too hasty about that anymore. She promptly told it to shut the hell up and mind its own business.

 

She pulled out a pair of jeans that appeared to be her size, a fitted cotton t-shirt that had ‘Metallica’ blazed across the front, and the necessary undergarments. She got dressed as quickly as humanly possible, diving back into the closet to search for shoes. As her hands landed on a pair of sandals, her eyes fell on a purse shoved behind the other, closed bag. Deciding that Dean didn’t seem to be the type to carry a purse around, she grabbed it as well and settled down on the floor to examine her findings.

 

The purse wasn’t that big. Upon opening it, she found that it was crammed to the point of overflowing. There was a small wallet, a wad of receipts, a tube of strawberry lip gloss, a pen, and a pack of gum. She tossed aside the gum and the receipts, left the pen and the gloss where they were, and yanked out the wallet.

 

There were a few odd bills inside. Her apparent total income at the moment was sixty-eight dollars. She rummaged around the other pockets and found several credit cards, all issued to different names. That gave her pause. Since when was she into credit card fraud?

 

The whole situation was becoming steadily stranger. Her brain was shrieking that they were going to have to give Dean’s story some real consideration, and she was still telling it to shut up. She continued to search the wallet, finding two pieces of ID, none of which had her actual name on them.

 

And there was the picture.

 

It was nestled behind some of the other pieces of fake cards, and took some digging to get out. Once clear of the wallet’s clutches, she held it in front of her face and examined it. And then did her best not freak out again.

 

There were four people in that photo, three males and one female. One of those males was her supposed husband Dean. The two other men she didn’t recognize, but could tell from the faces that they were most definitely related to Dean. The older of the men, a haggard looking man badly in need of a shave, had to be the father Dean kept referring to. He had his arm slung around Dean’s shoulders, and a wide, approving grin splitting his face. She knew just by looking at that picture that his face wasn’t one that was graced with smiles often. There were worry lines and shadows under his eyes, every indication of a man whose body needed rest, but whose brain just wouldn’t allow it.

 

Dean looked impossibly happy, and the expression of joy on his face was so sincere that it made her heart do a funny little jump. She slid her eyes past his face to look at the other man in the picture. He was definitely the youngest of the bunch, and yet also the tallest. He was smiling all big and genuinely, with one arm wrapped around the waist of the person next to him.

 

That person was her.

 

She was dressed in a white sundress, one that stopped just under her knees and was held up with two thin spaghetti straps. It wasn’t the conventional sort of dress for the event being depicted, so she wondered if maybe it was all they could manage at that moment. She held one white rose in her right hand, while her left was entwined with that of Dean, her supposed husband. Of course, considering the locale of the picture, she was thinking that maybe she should learn to drop that ‘supposed’ part.

 

Did she really get married in Vegas?

 

Willow wrinkled her nose at the thought. She wasn’t the type of person who got married in Vegas. Hell, she wasn’t sure she was the type of person who got married. And yet, here was this picture, with her in it, in front of an all-night wedding chapel, with the infamous Caesar’s looming in the background. Dean was with her, smiling wide and proud, one hand holding one of hers, the other caressing her cheek. He looked like he was about to go in for a kiss. And she didn’t look like she minded one bit.

 

The photo slipped from her fingers. She felt numb as she slumped against the open closet door. She raised her shaking left hand in front of her face, looking at the gold ring once more.

 

“Oh Goddess,” she whispered tearfully. “Please don’t let it be true.”

 

Her prayer, like so many before, fell on deaf ears.

 

Willow Rosenberg was married. And she couldn’t even remember it.

 

~*~


	3. Chapter 3  Chick Flick Moments

The knocking woke him up from a bout of dreamless sleep, an event so rare that Sam was about ready to rip the head off of his rather persistent visitor. He fell out of bed, the upper half of his body hitting the floor while the lower half was ensnared in the covers. Cursing and grumbling, Sam kicked off the covers and scrambled to his feet. His irritation was so intense that he promptly forgot that he was only wearing his boxers and stomped over to his door and yanked it open.

 

“Nice shorts, Sammy.”

 

Had it been anyone but his brother, he might have been embarrassed. But what was important at the moment was not that Dean was ribbing him, but the fact that Dean put no real emotion into it. His brother usually relished moments like this, and would come up with numerous insults and cut downs until Willow told him to shut up. He didn’t always stop when this happened, but it usually slowed the frequency at which he repeated them.

 

But today was different. The remark was short and simple, definitely his brother’s style, but not as witty as Dean usually was. Though Sam hated to admit it, Dean was usually very good with his cut downs. However, that talent was just not present in Dean today. His voice was flat and the sarcastic tilt Dean had so perfected was absent.

 

Something was wrong.

 

Noticing the absence of his sister-in-law, Sam was quick to rub the sleep from his eyes. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his words slightly muffled by a yawn.

 

Dean gave him this empty look and pushed into the room. “We need to have a chick flick moment.”

 

Sam let his brother pass, but couldn‘t stop the look of confusion from his face. “Huh?”

 

Dean ignored him, wandered over to Sam’s bed and sat down. Elbows resting on his knees, one hand kneading the other, and eyes firmly on the floor-Sam knew immediately something was very wrong. And the fact that Willow was not here with his brother was causing him to jump to some horrible conclusions.

 

“Where’s Willow?” Sam asked, almost too afraid to hear the answer.

 

“In our room,” Dean answered, eyes not leaving the floor. “Probably still trying to remember who I am.”

 

And then it all made sense. Sam swore and flopped down on the chair beside the night table. “It happened, didn’t it?”

 

Dean nodded. “Just like Dad said it would.”

 

Then they were silent. Sam watched his brother with concern, not sure what he should do right now. What kinds of things do you say to a man who woke up to find his wife didn’t remember him anymore?

 

“I . . .” Sam stopped abruptly. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, Dean obviously waiting for him to say something. He was kind of having trouble with that. Sure, there were things he could say at this moment. But none of them were all that intelligent, and definitely wouldn’t make Dean feel any better. So he tried for something neutral and yet utterly lame. “Is she okay?”

 

“You mean, did she wake up screaming and run out the door?” Dean demanded gruffly. “Not so much. I guess we can be thankful for small mercies. “

 

“Shouldn’t we go there and try to . . .”

 

“Try to what?” his brother snapped. “Explain to her how two complete strangers are her family? How we’ve spent the last three years ignoring the fact she had left a life behind her? How we pretended like her amnesia wasn’t there? How I married her a year ago in Vegas because we didn’t have any proper ID for her and that I was declared legally deceased a few months before, which made a marriage anywhere else impossible? Or how about the fact that we hunt demons for a living? Tell me Sammy, where should we start?”

 

“We should start with calming you down,” Sam retorted, regretting his harsh tone but knowing that if he let Dean get too worked up it would take too long to get him back down. “Whatever state of mind she’s in right now, Willow most certainly doesn’t need to see you like this.”

 

It was a bit of a dirty trick, pulling out the Willow card. But it worked, because Dean seemed to deflate. Sam ran a hair through his hair, brain racing with some sort of idea, thought, plan-anything. But he was coming up short. They had spent so much time talking about the possibility of this happening-well, he and Willow had talked about it. Dean didn’t really want to discuss the likelihood of his wife not remembering one day. But Sam and Willow had talked; they even discussed what sort of actions might be taken should the day ever arrive.

 

Too bad he couldn’t remember any of those things right now.

 

He turned back to his brother, not surprised to find Dean still staring intently at the carpet. “Did you call Dad?”

 

“Nah, wasn’t ready for an ‘I told you so’ just yet.”

 

“That’s harsh,” Sam frowned. “You know he wouldn’t do that. He loves Willow just like the rest of us. This is going to upset him too.”

 

“I know,” Dean grumbled. “I know that it will. Hell, I know you’re probably upset right now too. But I don’t give a fuck! I don’t care about how you feel, how Dad will feel, or anything other than the fact that I just lost my wife to some fucked up backwards amnesia bullshit!”

 

Sam bit his lip to keep from replying. Dean didn’t need to hear anything from him at the moment. Right now, all his brother needed to do was vent. To yell, to scream, to throw things, and quite possibly shoot a demon. But since they were lacking a demon at the moment, Sam just sat back and watched his brother lose it in his motel room. Maybe if he got a bit of it out of his system, Sam would be able to reign him in long enough to go see Willow. Because as of right now, there was too much anger in Dean to take him to see his wife.

 

“I mean, what the fuck!” Dean shouted, leaping off the bed and slamming his palm against the nearest wall. There was a loud smacking noise and Sam did his best not to wince. “Seriously, who the fuck does shit like this? One day, someone really messed up in the head decided Willow was a good target for the supernatural amnesia whammy, and would have done who knows what else if Dad hadn’t shown up! Then the fucker waits three years of her just roaming around, unable to remember even the slightest thing about herself, and then decides now is a good time to take off the spell? Seriously, who the fuck is this sick?”

 

That seemed to be the extent of verbal venting his brother was capable of at the moment. The physical venting was still going strong though, as Dean set his sights on Sam’s helpless bedside lamp. Wrapping his hand around the neck, Dean yanked it the lamp from the table, ripping the cord out of the socket, and hurled it across the room with an enraged shout. The lamp hit the wall, light bulb smashed to pieces, and left a noticeable dent in the wall. Sam hoped to God no one else had heard that, or Dean’s bad day would be topped with a huge repair bill and subsequent booting from the motel.

 

Sam watched as his brother huffed and puffed, face pinched with anger and frustration. He waited a few minutes and when Dean didn’t break anything else, he ventured forward with a “Done yet?”

 

Dean shot him a look that could have melted lead. Sam just returned it with a calm look until Dean dropped his gaze. With a heavy sigh, Sam got to his feet and headed for the bathroom. “I’m getting washed and dressed. Then we’re going to find your wife, sit down somewhere, and talk this whole thing over until we make some sense of the whole situation.”

 

Dean said nothing, so Sam was just going to assume that he agreed. He let himself into the bathroom and was halfway through brushing his teeth when a thought occurred to him. Spitting out the foam and washing his mouth frantically, Sam rushed back into the room and looked at his brother. “Dean, when you said you left Willow to get dressed, did you happen to remember to take the supplies bag with you?”

 

Dean stared at his brother, a bit dumbfounded, and then realization hit him. He screwed up his face and slapped the palm of his hand against his forehead.

 

“This is why I hate Chick Flick Moments!”

 

~*~

 

“They make you forget your fucking common sense!”

 

Sam rolled his eyes, still tugging on his shirt as he and his brother raced back to Dean and Willow’s room. Dean was still yammering on about the evils of the Chick Flick Moment, which Sam just ignored. His brother was seriously mental. It was a wonder Willow put up with him, because amnesia or not, the girl was sensible enough to know Dean was crazy. Hell, she called him on it often enough. Made for an interesting courtship.

 

Too bad Willow wouldn’t be able to remember it.

 

He wasn’t going to reflect on that sad fact just now. He could commiserate later, right now he had to stop Willow from finding the supplies bag. So waking up next to stranger hadn’t sent her running off into the sunset, but finding out that stranger carried an mini-armoury of guns and knives just might do the trick.

 

Both brothers skidded to a stop in front of the right door, Dean patting down his pockets to find the key. In what might have been the longest two minutes Sam ever experienced, Dean managed to produce said key and finally opened the door.

 

They stumbled into the door, Sam only belatedly realizing that Willow didn’t remember all the other times they did this to her and might be frightened by two frantic strangers busting down her door. Of course, his fears were unfounded. Willow seemed too busy being frightened by all the guns and knives she found to worry about the crazy men who just crashed into her room.

 

“Son of a bitch.” Dean shook his head and gripped the back of his head as he looked helplessly down at a visibly shaken Willow. The girl in question just raised wide, scared green eyes and looked at the two brothers in what Sam could only decipher as a mix of disbelief and fear.

 

“Please tell me we aren’t a family of criminals.”

 

Criminals? Well, he supposed he could understand where she got that idea . . . Wait, did she just say ‘family’?

 

“’Family’?” Apparently Dean had caught that last part as well. His brother sounded almost hopeful as he said it.

 

“Answer the question,” Willow ordered, though she didn’t put much force behind her demand.

 

“We’re not criminals,” Sam answered when Dean failed to say anything else. Her eyes shifted over to him, and he saw some recognition there. Was it possible that she remembered . . .

 

“Then why the hell do we have an entire duffel bag full of weapons?” she asked, her voice becoming slightly cold. “Guns, knives, and enough bullets to supply a small army? Why exactly is this stuff here?”

 

“Would you believe we’re bounty hunters?”

 

Sam groaned and shot his brother a glare. Now was not the time for Dean to play dumb games. But his brother didn’t acknowledge his glare. He was too busy looking at Willow with that stone-faced expression he wore when he was fighting back some sort of emotion he didn’t want others to see.

 

“No.” Willow glared angrily at the both of them, though Sam noticed that her eyes tended to rest longer on Dean than on him. For his part, Dean didn’t bother suggesting any other reason for his arsenal. He just looked down at his wife, waiting for her to make the next move. Only problem with that approach was that Willow was waiting on them to do something. And if they all just sat around waiting for the other to do something about the situation, they might be here all day.

 

Sam didn’t much like that option, so he decided to try his hand at honesty.

 

“Would you believe that we’re demon hunters?” His voice was weak as he said it, and the acidic look Dean gave him made him very uneasy. But he stood his ground, eyebrows raised as he waited for his sister-in-law to respond.

 

Her face had gone blank the second he said it. She gave him this look, like she couldn’t believe that he had suggested something so stupid. But just as soon as that look crossed her face, it was gone. In its place was a thoughtful expression. Her eyes darkened a tad bit and her mouth settled into a weird little smile.

 

“Now that I can believe.”

 

~*~


	4. Chapter 4  What's In A Name . . .

Willow traced a finger around the rim of her coffee cup, eyes intent on the nearly toxic brew within. She wrinkled her nose, wondering if everyone outside of California made coffee this horrible. Ever since Sunnydale collapsed, she hadn’t been able to find one coffee shop that even compared to the one back in her hometown. It had just been one bad experience to another. Buffy used to say she was just being picky for the sake of being picky. Willow hadn’t had a good reply for that, so she cheerfully invited her best friend to shut up.

 

Her best friend that she apparently hadn’t seen in three years.

 

She shook her head, trying to clear her mind of such depressing thoughts. Her finger stopped its tracing of her coffee cup and she pushed the vile sludge away from her. She dared a glance upwards, saw that both Dean and Sam were still staring at her, and sunk down in her seat. She let her eyes wander around the diner the brothers had selected for their much needed discussion. It had been about half an hour from their motel, which they left in quite a hurry after Sam let it slip about the demon hunting. Willow had thought they could have had the conversation right where they were, but Sam muttered something about a lamp and damages before suggesting that she hurry it up and get in the car.

 

And so after a rather hasty exit, they ended up here. A greasy little dive just off the Interstate, just two brothers and a girl with reverse amnesia. Willow wasn’t sure that was the correct term for what had happened to her, but that’s what Dean called it. She was willing to go along with it because he had seemed so sure about it, not to mention that every time he looked at her with hope in his eyes, her heart dipped low in her chest. Feelings of guilt swam around in her stomach every time she caught a glimpse of that hurt look that Dean tried so hard to cover. Scary thing was that she was pretty sure that he had covered it well. But as before, little clues around his body language and voice intonation let her know that he was upset. Little clues that she shouldn’t recognize since she had no real memories of the man, and yet . . .

 

Willow shifted restlessly in her seat, daring another look upwards and mildly frustrated to see that they were still staring at her. “I’m trying,” she told them, her voice defensive.

 

Sam offered her a weak little smile and immediately dropped his eyes. Dean’s expression didn’t change at all, and he still watched her like a hawk. She could see him flexing his hands, right hand curling in and out of a fist every few minutes. She got the impression that he wanted to touch her, but had to continuously restrain himself because he knew the action wouldn’t exactly be appreciated.

 

That train of thought depressed her a lot more than she liked. Willow figured she could chalk it up to pity for the man. He was obviously in pain considering that his wife had basically disappeared overnight. And she was willing to admit that they were indeed married, in the state of Nevada anyway. She had spent a lot of time obsessing over that picture while Dean had been gone, and she reluctantly accepted that it was real. She had gotten dressed in a white dress and walked down the aisle to marry Dean. She just didn’t understand why she had done it. Or maybe she did, because she was hit with a mix of emotions when it came to her husband and if she was going to honest with herself, she had to admit that she cared for him. The feelings came without warning, and she pushed them aside because she couldn’t deal with them. The situation was pretty messed up as is, and she was dealing with only one problem at a time.

 

And the current problem was that there was some memory niggling around in the back of her mind whenever Sam started to explain the family business to her.

 

The waitress arrived with their food, which she was pleased to note looked far more appetizing than her coffee. She picked up a single fry and munched on it quietly as she rolled Sam’s words around in her brain. She hadn’t been that affected by the general details of their work, as it wasn’t any different from the work of all the other hunters out there. But then Sam had brought up their father, supposedly her original rescuer from some unknown trauma three years prior, and then finally spat out their last name.

 

The combination of John and Winchester had immediately caused her brain to start working. There was something about that name, some memory she had that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. But she was determined to find out what it was. And thus, she had spent the last twenty minutes mulling over it. She almost had it; the answer on just on the tip of her tongue-only problem was that she couldn’t force it out any further.

 

“Tell me more about him,” she finally said. Sam seemed startled at her demand, and exchanged a look with Dean, probably to see if he wanted to do the talking. He really didn’t. He just wanted to sit there and stare at her. Fine, let him. She wasn’t that bothered by it.

 

Really.

 

“Well, like what?” Sam was lost, and his face showed it. Poor boy.

 

“Like when it started,” she prompted him.

 

His face fell and for a second, his expression matched that of his brother’s. It passed soon enough, but she had seen it. She wondered what it meant.

 

“We started when Mom died.” Dean spoke suddenly, and without warning. His voice was cold, so cold it made her flinch. Willow looked away from him and stared at her hands. She wondered if she should be feeling this guilty about upsetting two people she didn’t even know.

 

“Demon?” she finally asked.

 

“Yeah,” that was Sam, not that she looked up to acknowledge him. No, her hands were real interesting at the moment. If she kept her focus on them, she might be able to get through this Q & A session and remember what it was that was niggling at her.

 

But the revelation about their mother’s death hadn’t sounded off any more alarm bells. There were a lot of people in the hunting business for revenge reasons. It usually took something that tragic happening to get most people aware of what was out there, and then piss them off enough to motivate them to go after it.

 

“When was this?”

 

“About twenty odd years ago,” Sam answered her. “Back in our old hometown, Lawrence. It’s a small town in Kansas.”

 

And just like that, Willow saw the light. “Holy crap,” she breathed. “You’re Superman’s kids.”

 

Even Dean looked surprised at that. “What did you just say?”

 

Willow blushed, remembering a bit too late that perhaps using the Scooby designated nickname wasn’t always the best way to go. But it was too late now. “You know, Superman, from the comics?” she shrugged before explaining. “John Winchester, the guy from Nowhere, Kansas who pops up all over the place to save random people just in the nick of time. We thought it was fitting.”

 

Sam smiled, as if the thought amused him, but Dean wasn’t quite that amused. “Who’s ‘we’?” he asked, his voice back to an overly neutral tone.

 

“My friends and I,” Willow replied, hesitating as she thought of the best way to go about this.

 

“Your friends and you sit around talking about demon hunters often?” Dean countered, his tone getting pretty severe. She gave him a confused look, wondering what had brought about the sudden flash of anger. Sam noticed it too, but instead of getting confused, he kicked his brother under the table in what he supposed was an indiscreet way. Considering the whole table rattled and most of Willow’s coffee ended up splashed on the table top, he wasn’t that efficient. If Dean felt the kick was unnecessary, he said nothing. He kept his eyes on Willow, waiting for her answer.

 

“It kind of went with the territory,” she began to explain, after an overly long awkward pause. “We were sort of part of this, what did Andrew call it? ‘Paranormal phenomena investigative enterprise’ or something just as ridiculous. Considering how long you guys claim to have been doing this, you might have heard of us. The Watcher’s Council.”

 

She was guessing by the stunned silence and the bowled over look on Sam’s face that the boys had indeed heard of them. “Did you just . . . ? I mean, the Council. THE Council. And you, with the Council, and-”

 

“I think what Sammy is trying to say is, if you’re Council, why the hell didn’t they come find you? I mean, they’re supposed to be the big guns when it comes to this shtick. I hear they got this mega-witch on board now. So how come they didn’t send her to find you?”

 

The question was obviously more awkward than both boys realized. She wondered if telling them might be the best way, but opted against. She figured staying quiet and just giving them that pointed look would eventually-

 

“No way.”

 

Sam was really on the ball today.

 

“Uh, yes way?” she replied lamely, hands raised palm up to signify her lack of witty comebacks.

 

“But, you can’t be her; you’ve never done any witchy thing-Dean, help me out here.”

 

But Dean doesn’t seem to be in any shape to help anyone. His eyes are kind of glazed over and he looks at Willow with the sadness clear in his eyes. He can’t hide it this time, and she thinks he doesn’t bother. She felt her heart drop down to somewhere around her ankles. This wasn’t the reaction she had been expecting.

 

Neither had Sam, because he was nudging his brother kind of roughly. It took a few minutes for Dean to notice his brother, and after that, he seemed to regain his composure. That hard look back on his face, posture relaxed, and one quick, but vicious, smack across the back of Sam’s head, and he was back to normal. Or so she was assuming, because she didn’t know what normal was like for Dean.

 

Did she?

 

Sam rubbed at his head, shooting his older brother several death glares before he got back to the topic at hand. “But why wouldn’t they look for you, if you’re this mega-witch. I mean, the Witch of Sunnydale going missing is big. People would have been talking-”

 

“Unless the Council has any sort of common sense, that is,” Dean interrupted. “Did we tell everyone when Dad went missing? No, it was more like ‘he’s on an independent hunt’ bullshit. And we did it because letting people know that Dad was missing might have some repercussions, not to mention it would have made us look like idiots. Why should the Council be any different? Especially when they’ve got a lot more in ways of reputation and precious cargo to protect.”

 

“They’re Slayers, not cargo,” Willow snapped almost immediately. “They’re people, try to remember that.”

 

And then he was smiling, though it didn‘t reach his eyes. It was one of those flirty kind of smiles, one he had probably had a few years to refine. She wondered if the smile was what did her in, but she wasn‘t curious enough to ask. “I also said they were precious, does that get me any points?”

 

“Dean . . .” Sam looked pained. He must have to do that a lot. Dean seemed like the type that needed to be kept in line. How did she manage to put up with it? Maybe she had tamed the playboy, like all other cheesy Hollywood romantic-comedy heroines always did with their irascible playboys.

 

She wasn’t willing to bet on it.

 

“We should phone Dad,” this time Sam was trying to talk to both of them. She noticed that he kept calling him ‘Dad’, instead of ‘our Dad’ when he talked to her. It was curious, especially since Willow felt comfortable with it. She conjured up the image of the man from her wedding photo and tried hard to think of him as ‘John’, but it didn’t work. She couldn’t imagine calling him that. The thought actually made her uncomfortable, like she would be presuming too much of herself if she called him by his first name. She toyed with the idea of calling him ‘Superman’ in her head, but that made her feel even worse, so she nixed the idea.

 

“Yeah.” It was the first cooperative thing out of his mouth that day. Willow felt a flash of resignation. Only the idea of his father seemed to make Dean shape up. How the hell did she and Sam manage when Dad was elsewhere?

 

“I should phone my friends,” she added. To say what? She didn’t quite know. Sam and Dean didn’t have any suggestions either, as both just nodded somewhat absently. The three of them sat there, their declarations hanging in the air, and yet not one of them moving.

 

An hour later, the food would be gone, and they would still be sitting, cell phones on the table and not one call made.

 

~*~


	5. Chapter 5  Out Of Range

Her finger hovered over the ‘Send’ button, her stomach rumbling at the thought of what was to come. The numbers were all there, black numbers on a white screen, and all she had to do was push that one little button. Sam and Dean were waiting for her to push the button, and yet, there she was, not pushing the button. Pushing the button was something that kind of scared her, if you really wanted to know. Not because she didn’t know what to say to who answered, but because she was too afraid to get THAT message again.

 

Another finger appeared out of nowhere, a finger that was not of hers and most likely belonged to Dean. This finger budged its way under her finger and without warning, pushed the button. She raised irritated, but unsurprised eyes. He flashed her that smirk again, the flirty one, to which she had a very minimal reaction.

 

Honest, barely even registered.

 

Defeated, she put the cell to her ear and waited. It rang once. Twice. Three times, four, five, six . . . And then: “The mobile customer you are calling, ANDREW, is currently unavailable. Please leave a message after the-”

 

She hung up before the automated voice got to finish. Frustrated, she slid the phone across the table to Dean and then sunk down in her seat. Neither brother said anything. They both knew what that meant. Yet another unanswered call. That would make it the seventh of the day. And being unable to reach that many people usually wasn’t a good thing, especially in their line of work.

 

Willow bit her lip and tried to get a grip on her emotions. Okay, so Xander, Buffy, Giles, Dawn, Faith, Robin, and Andrew hadn’t answered their phones. They could just be busy. Sure, the likelihood of all those seven people, living at different corners of the world, being too busy to answer their cell phones wasn’t usually that high, but it could happen. They might just be doing Council stuff. She bet half of them were in some sort of meeting or training session, while some of the others were sleeping or something, and maybe one or two had left their phone unattended just for the last half hour. Those were pretty reasonable assumptions to make.

 

Too bad her family and Reason didn’t have that great of a relationship. Willow groaned and closed her eyes before running her hands over them. She was getting a headache. There was only one thing that made sense in a situation like this, and it wasn’t something she felt like dealing with at the moment.

 

This stank of apocalypse.

 

“Now what?”

 

Dean sure was abrupt. Willow bet it drove her crazy.

 

She opened her right eye and glared at him, but she didn’t put much energy into the glare. She figured she must be looking fairly bizarre at this point, so she dropped her hands and sat up properly. “This isn’t good.”

 

“Maybe they’re busy.” Sam appeared quite the optimist at certain points. She wondered what that was about. He sure didn’t have much to base that sort of positive thinking on. The guy had spent his whole life chasing around the monsters in the dark, and yet he still had it in him to look for the brighter side. She might have been envious if she wasn’t so worried.

 

Dean, on the other hand, not so much with the bright side.

 

“Sammy, don’t be stupid. You know the kind of shit those people deal with. Even if they are busy, that doesn’t necessarily mean anything good. Might be busy with a funeral.”

 

This time his lack of tact got him two kicks, one from his brother and one from his wife. Dean cursed, loudly, while Sam shook his head in disapproval. Willow shot a harsh look at the overly curious waitress before dealing with her charming spouse.

 

“You could be nice for half a second,” she muttered, her tone annoyed.

 

“How would that help?” he asked bluntly. “Better to realize the truth and then deal with it. Can’t sit around here, dreaming up fairytales forever. You wanna get to your friends, we better find out what’s up with them.”

 

She didn’t have an answer for that. He was being awfully rational now. It made disagreeing with him somewhat difficult.

 

“You still could be.” Didn’t mean she couldn’t try.

 

He gave her a look, and so she gave him one back. She knew that she was behaving a bit too mopey for someone whose friends might be in mortal peril. But she figured it might be mopey enough for someone who had just woken up to find three years of her life gone, an impossible demon hunter for a husband, and all of her friends to be ‘currently unavailable‘.

 

“We’re not likely to hear back from Dad any time soon,” Sam interjected thoughtfully, completely ignoring the stare-down between his brother and sister-in-law. “Maybe we should head for the Headquarters. It’s still in London, right?”

 

“’London’?” Dean yelped before Willow could respond. “We are not going to London. How the hell would we get there?”

 

“Well, there’s this newfangled contraption called an airplane-”

 

“Shove it, Sammy. We’re not flying. Besides, we kind of don’t have the thousands of dollars it takes to buy those tickets. They’re the huge, shadowy Watcher Council. Make them come to us.”

 

“Good idea. Let’s call them-oh wait! Willow tried that and got jack. Hmm, maybe we should send them psychic messages every hour on the hour, and just hope they pick up on it.”

 

“This is cute-for children,” Willow rolled her eyes at the squabbling duo. “If you two ever decide to channel your inner adults, please let me know.”

 

Both brothers fell silent, but not in the sheepish way she had been intending with her comments. They only became taught with tension. Dean’s eyes dropped to the tabletop to where his fists rested, clenched so tight the skin was white. Sam was looking at her in a really funny way that made her very uncomfortable.

 

“What? Only you two are allowed to trade insults?” she asked awkwardly.

 

They didn’t say anything. There was just more awkward silence and tons of funny looks and avoiding glances. Willow rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Fine, whatever, just hand me back the phone. I’ve got one more number to try.”

 

It took Dean a minute to realize that she was talking to him. Slowly, he unclenched his fists and slid the phone back across the table towards her. “Who’s that?” he asked, his voice rough.

 

“Cleveland HQ,” she murmured in response, punching the appropriate numbers on the keypad.

 

“Cleveland? They have a place in Cleveland? How come we didn’t know that?” Sam’s steady stream of unanswered questions stopped for a second before beginning again. “Why Cleveland? It’s not evil; well, not more evil than most places.”

 

Whatever problem Dean had developed minutes before disappeared as another opportunity to argue with his brother presented itself. “Maybe all the vampires are trying to immigrate to Canada, and they’re going to swim up the Great Lakes to do it.”

 

“Shut up Dean.”

 

“What? Someone’s gotta protect those Canadians . . .”

 

She decided to ignore them this time. Willow hit the ‘Send’ button and put the phone to her ear, both Winchesters quieting down after they realized she had made the call. The overly curious waitress made another sweep by their table, and this time it was Dean that chased her off with a hard look. The woman scampered away, muttering curses under her breath, and no doubt vowing to spit on anything else they ordered. Willow figured her to be the vindictive type.

 

The ring came. Once. Twice. Thr-

 

“Joyce Summers Finishing School for Young Girls, Rhona speaking. How may I help you?”

 

Willow frowned. “Rhona? Since when do you play receptionist?”

 

There was a pause on the other end. And then, “Who’s this?” The younger Slayer’s voice was bordering on the threatening side. Willow couldn’t stop the smile that curved her lips right then. The worry that had been twisting its way around her heart lessened just a little at the sound of a familiar voice.

 

“Rhona, it’s me. Willow.”

 

Most people would have gasped. Or repeated her name in a half stutter, something at the very least to register their shock. But Rhona wasn’t like most people. She was a Slayer, and Slayers don’t gasp. She could almost imagine the dark-skinned girl, standing by the reception desk, receiver held to her ear, and her entire body going rigid before . . .

 

“Listen, I don’t know who this is, but you’re got a lot of nerve to play such a fucked up joke-”

 

“Rhona,” Willow interrupted her before she got too far. “It’s me, Willow.”

 

Another pause. She drummed her fingers on the table while she waited. Sam and Dean both stared at her, their curiosity plain to see. On the other end, Rhona was breathing heavily as she considered Willow’s claim.

 

Finally: “Prove it.”

 

Prove it? Willow scrunched up her nose and tried to think of something that would be considered proof. “Um, you broke your arm fighting against Caleb during the whole thing with the First.”

 

Dean and Sam looked lost. She didn’t bother filling them in, she didn’t have that luxury. Mostly because Rhona was snorting into the phone, conveying how very unimpressed she was with that attempt at ‘proof’. “Please, half a million people know that.”

 

“Listen Rhona, I don’t have all day to sit around and do this with you-”

 

“What did Xander say to the Potentials before the fight began?”

 

She didn’t clarify which fight and she didn’t have to. Willow knew, she could hardly forget. “He directed you girls to the Hellmouth and then said, ‘if you have to use the bathroom, better to go now’.”

 

Now Dean and Sam were looking at her like she was nuts, but Rhona was finally convinced.

 

“Holy shit,” the Slayer’s voice was filled with disbelief. “Holy shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!”

 

“Uh, Rhona? Language?”

 

“Holy shit!” Rhona continued to exclaim, completely overlooking the reprimand. “Is it you? It is you! I can’t believe-we looked for so long-Holy shit! Where the fuck are you and what the fuck have you been doing for the past three years?”

 

“Couldn’t tell you,” Willow said with forced laughter.

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

“Long story, listen Rhona, I know you must have a lot of questions, but I don’t think I could answer them. Are any of the Scoobies there? I just really need to talk to one of them.”

 

Another bout of silence, only this one wasn’t like the rest. The Slayer’s hesitation was obvious. Willow felt the worry twisted around her heart with renewed vigour. “Rhona? Where are the others?”

 

She heard some shuffling noises, knowing that Rhona was sitting down before she answered. That wasn’t a good sign. People don’t sit down unless they have something to say that you don’t necessarily want to hear.

 

“Rhona!”

 

“Sorry! I just can’t believe it’s you . . . We looked for so long. It drove everyone out of their minds. And God, what it did to Xander and Buffy . . .”

 

Panic was taking over her. Her eyes widened and she was practically shaking. She barely noticed when Dean immediately showed up at her side, sliding into her side of the booth and putting a comforting arm around her shoulders. She leaned into him without thinking, hands shaking as they found their hand to his shirt, clenching and twisting the material between her fingers. She didn’t say anything, she didn’t dare.

 

“We looked,” Rhona continued to say, her voice catching a few times. “We looked all the time. We couldn’t find you. It’s was like you disappeared right off the face of the planet. Those guys . . . They were like obsessed. They ran themselves to the ground trying to find you, or find out what had happened to you. Then they found out, and they took off, guns blazing and the usual chaos. They took the Roman squad with them. That was three days ago. We haven’t heard anything since then . . .”

 

She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Dean was whispering in her ear, trying to get her to tell him what was wrong. But she couldn’t form the words. Her head dropped to his shoulder, phone held by a shaking hand to her ear. Rhona continued to stumble over her words, trying to find the right way to explain herself, and then giving up halfway through.

 

“Where are you?” She asked again. “Just-We’ll come get you.”

 

She shook her head. “N-n-no,” she stammered into the phone. “No, don’t do that. Just stay there and try to find out . . . I’ll come to you. I can be there in . . .”

 

“Two days,” Dean finished for her. “We can be there in two days.”

 

“Who’s that?” Rhona demanded.

 

“That’s . . . Dean.”

 

“’Dean’? Who the hell is Dean?”

 

“I . . . I’ll see you in two days.”

 

She snapped the phone shut, not bothering to listen to Rhona’s protests. She placed the phone back on the table, careful not to move too far away from Dean. She didn’t think too much on why she did that, and neither brother seemed up to questioning it. Maybe it was something she used to do a lot. She wasn’t sure she cared either way. She kept hearing Rhona in her head, repeating the same thing over and over again. Her friends had gone off to battle three days ago, and no one knew if they were still alive. The idea of what could have happened to them in that time . . .

 

She was shaking. The fear had done it. She was afraid for her friends, and she couldn’t do anything to help them. She didn’t even know where they were or who they were fighting. If she made it to Cleveland, she might be able to do something. But they were two days away from there, and a lot can happen in two days. A lot of bad can happen in two days.

 

Sam cleared his throat suddenly, startling Willow halfway out of her panic-induced haze. “So, Cleveland?”

 

Even though he was looking at her, Willow knew that she wasn’t the one he was talking too. “Cleveland,” Dean agreed, arms still full of quaking Willow though he didn’t seem at all bothered by it. “We hit the road now, we drive non-stop, and we can get there in two days.”

 

She twisted her neck to look up at his face. He was looking at Sam, and kept looking at his brother even after he became aware of her staring. Just looked straight ahead, facial expression nonchalant, but eyes revealing his determination to get her where she needed to be. She felt a sudden rush of affection for her stranger-husband, and for the first time since she woke up that morning, she didn’t feel the need to stamp the emotion back down inside of her.

 

“Come on,” he said, giving her a slight tug sideways. “Let’s get a move on it.”

 

She nodded and let him help her out of the booth. His arm stayed slung around her shoulders even as they made for the door, Sam right behind them as soon as he paid their bill. The overly curious waitress was practically sneering at them as they left, and Willow resisted the urge to do the same back to her.

 

They were piling into the Impala when Dean’s phone starting chirping. The man growled in frustration before pulling his cell out of his jacket pocket. His eyes fell on the call display and his face immediately paled.

 

“What?”

 

She couldn’t help the hint of fear in her voice. After all, the day hadn’t been going all too well for any of them up to this point. Even Sam looked concerned as he waited for his brother to answer. But Dean didn’t say anything. Wordlessly he flipped open the phone and put it to his ear.

 

“Hi Dad.”

 

~*~


	6. Chapter 6  Father, May I . . .

“Yes sir . . . Yes sir . . . No sir . . . Cleveland . . . Yes sir . . .”

 

Willow bit down on her lip to keep from laughing. She knew that the situation was weirder than usual, and with her friends unaccounted for, probably more dangerous than usual. And yet, sitting in the backseat of Dean’s car and listening to Dean communicate with his father is a series of “yes/no sirs” really made her want to giggle. It seemed like an irrational impulse, but it was amusing to see how much Dean changed when his father was around. Dad was the only person Dean would ever take orders from, something she had had to figure out the hard way.

 

She froze. Where the hell did that come from?

 

Willow tore her eyes away from Dean as she sat up straighter. Her eyes flew all over the place, seeing everything but registering nothing. The hairs on her neck were standing up and her head was spinning.

 

The thought had come to her mind, almost on instinct. Like it was a real memory that she had. But now that she tried to probe it further, she got nowhere. She couldn’t find out where it came from. It was there, but unattached to any other sort of memory. No mental images, no specific conversations, just that one thought, standing on its own with no clues as to its origins.

 

“Willow?”

 

That was Sam. She blinked and looked up, catching the man’s eye in the rear-view mirror. Since Dean was busy taking Dad’s orders, Sam was regulated to driving duties. And he was doing a piss poor job of it. Half of his attention was on the road; the other half was on Dean’s conversation and whatever was going on with Willow. Therefore the ride was rough, as Sam looked back to the road every few seconds and that had to turn the wheel sharply to avoid catastrophe. Dean hadn’t said anything about it, other than giving his younger brother a deathly glare every time Sam caught his eye. Willow just knew the second Dean was off the phone, he would have Sam pull over somewhere and then throw his brother out of the driver’s seat as fast as he could without doing any permanent damage to his little brother. Notice the use of the word ‘permanent’. The look in Dean’s eyes suggested that temporary damage might be acceptable considering how careless Sam was being with his car.

 

“Willow.”

 

Whoops. She had gone off into another random thought spiral and now Sam was sounding exasperated. Exasperated, but not surprised. Seems her habit of getting lost in too many thoughts carried on throughout amnesia.

 

“Yeah?” she asked, before Sam had to call for her attention again. The first time he had called her name had kind of alerted Dean to the fact something was off with his wife. The second time he called her name had Dean turned around in his seat so that he could look at his wife. He was still conversing with his father, but his focus was on Willow. All the attention just compounded the weirdness of the whole day and Willow squirmed uncomfortably under their gazes. Her eyes dropped down to her hands, the corners of her mouth turning down in the start of a frown.

 

The seconds ticked by and neither brother said anything to her. They just continued to stare. “What?” she finally demanded, her tone peevish.

 

“You okay?” Sam asked, as Dean was still too busy with Dad to take the time to pester her with annoying questions.

 

“Dandy,” she muttered in reply. Perfectly dandy, if you ignore the fact that her life was screwed up in ways she hadn’t known were possible. Whatever spell or curse that was responsible for this was cast by a seriously lacking individual. And she knew it was something magical because not only was it an easy explanation, it was the only one that made any sense. If she were a paranoid person, she might suspect that Dean or Sam or even Dad had cast the spell. But she knew, deep down somewhere inside of her, that this was not something they would do to her. Only someone that hated her could do this, and none of the Winchester men fell into this category.

 

In fact, they fell into the exact opposite category. She supposed that should make her feel even weirder, considering she didn’t really remember them, but it didn’t. It was actually kind of comforting. She bet it would feel even nicer if she could ever remember the past three years of her life.

 

“Yes sir . . . Yes sir . . . Yes-What?”

 

The pattern had broken! Immediately the focus went from Willow to Dean. That had to be the first time since Dean had picked up his phone that his voice changed from obedient son to slightly flustered man. Sam had gone from looking at her in the rear-view mirror to openly staring at his older brother. The change caused Sam to let the car slide a little too close to the right, something he had to adjust quickly to avoid driving into a ditch. Dean’s facial expression went from stunned to aggravated in a split-second.

 

“Sure thing,” he all but growled into the phone, glaring at his brother the entire time. Willow had to admit the impending sibling showdown looked like it was going to be funny, but she didn’t have the opportunity to get too excited about it. Dean had finally removed his cell phone from his ear and was now offering it to her.

 

“Dad wants to talk to you,” was all he said. Willow’s eyes widened and she shot Dean an incredulous look. Her? Talk to Dad? A man she didn’t remember other than the odd conversations she had had with Buffy and Xander about him? A man that Xander had decided to name Superman after the third such meeting, because he thought it was fitting? Dean wanted her to talk to this man?

 

Dean rolled his eyes and pushed the phone closer to her. “Dude,” he said in a whiny sort of way. Willow frowned. Wasn't it weird for a man to call his wife ‘dude’? Dean didn’t seem to think so, though he was getting a little annoyed at her lack of taking the phone. He was now jabbing it in her direction, giving her a pointed look that just screamed he was prepared to crawl into the backseat and jam the phone up to her ear, if that’s what it took.

 

Of course, Dean crawling into the backseat with her wasn’t always such a bad thing . . .

 

Whoa! Back the train up! Did she seriously just have that thought? Did she really just imagine that? Goddess! What the hell was this man doing to her?

 

She took the phone from him, if only to get him to stop giving her that look. She fumbled with it for a second, all too flustered to think properly and not yet rational enough to tear her eyes away from Dean. Her husband must know her really well, because the smug grin that curved his lips lead her to believe he knew what she was thinking. And the wink he gave her before turning around to yell at his brother for his crappy-ass driving-that definitely meant he knew what she was thinking.

 

Great.

 

And the phone was still in her hand. She looked at it suspiciously for a moment before bringing it up to her ear. “Hello?”

 

“Willow?”

 

His voice was gruff, and for some reason that surprised her. She wasn’t sure why that was. From his picture, it shouldn’t have been surprising. ‘Gruff’ seemed like an adequate description of the man overall.

 

He was waiting for her to respond. Her level of anxiety rose about ten times as she thought about the right way to reply. She couldn’t call him Dad, could she? That's what she called him in her head, but was it right to say it out loud? Sure she probably called him that in the past, but that was back when she knew him. Right now, she knew nothing about John Winchester, other than what she had discussed with her friends. She couldn’t call him Dad because she would feel awkward, and if she called him Mr. Winchester, they would both feel that way. Rock and hard place, anyone?

 

So, in a very lame fashion, she took a page out of her husband’s book. “Yes sir?”

 

Whatever kinds of reaction she had been expecting, laughter wasn’t one of them. But it happened. It wasn’t one of those loud kinds of laughter, or even the mean, mocking sort. Instead it was this soft chuckle, one that spoke of amusement and affection all at once. And though she still was entirely sure she wanted to have this conversation, Willow immediately felt some of the tension in her body dissipate.

 

The chuckling eased off slowly, and when he spoke again, that hint of affection was still there. “Sorry. Just not used to hearing that from you. In fact, I seem to recall a conversation that revolved around how I would never hear that from you.”

 

Her stomach churned for a second. “I’m sorry, but I can’t say the same.”

 

A sigh, soft but heavy with emotion, chased away the remnants of amusement. He was dead serious now. She could hear it when he spoke. “I know. Shouldn’t be so surprised, but I am. Missouri told me it would happen; and the woman is never wrong. Guess we all sort of convinced ourselves that it wouldn’t happen any time soon, or some other nonsense. You’d think we would know better, by now.”

 

How did one respond to that? She didn’t know, so she didn’t. Dad didn’t seem to notice, he just kept trucking on.

 

“So, the Council? Well, makes as much sense as the rest of it. How are you doing?”

 

“Um, okay, I guess. I don’t know,” she admitted. “I can’t really wrap my head around it . . . I just need to get home.”

 

“For your friends, right?” It was a rhetorical question; she didn’t bother to answer it. “Now that’s strange. Something that big going down with the Council, I should have heard something about it.”

 

“Why’s that?” she asked before thinking.

 

“Because there isn’t much that the Watchers do that the rest of us don’t make a point of knowing,” he replied calmly. “Ever since the army of Slayers was created, we hunters have made it a point of knowing what the Council’s up to. Just as I’m sure you’re all up to speed on what we’re doing.”

 

She suspected that Dean might have been saying more than ‘yes/no sir’ for the past half an hour. “Did he tell you?”

 

“Didn’t have to, even though he did,” was the answer, and right away, that undercurrent of amusement was back. “Always thought it was funny myself, especially since I had a stack of Superman comics when I was younger. Much younger.”

 

Always thought . . . “You knew we called you that?”

 

“Yeah. Apparently one of your colleagues let it slip around an associate of mine. Caleb couldn’t stop laughing for days. Had to threaten to shoot him to get him to stop.”

 

It was said so calmly that she had to laugh. “Good to hear that,” Dad murmured as her giggles started to subside. She heard the truth of it in his voice, and slowly, more of the tension in her body began to fade. “Stay upbeat, just like that. I know it’s hard, especially considering the circumstances, but it’ll keep you sane. Sam and Dean aren’t about to let anything happen to you; you need to trust that. They’ll get you to Cleveland, and when we’re all there, we’ll look to your friends. I won’t lie to you. What we find might not be good. But we’ll be there every step of the way. You’re my daughter, even if you don’t know it or remember it. And we’re a family that takes care of its own.”

 

Her eyes were watering, and though she tried to stop it, a few tears managed to make their way down her cheeks. She wiped at them absently, her heart feeling far too heavy for her chest to carry. “Thanks,” she whispered, sniffling a little as she tried to regain some control.

 

She could almost see the smile sure to be on his face right now. “You're welcome, sunshine. I’ll see you in a few days. Try and keep the boys from killing each other until then.”

 

Willow dared a glance at said boys, and wasn’t surprised to find them in a whispered argument. Dean’s was gesturing wildly in an attempt to get Sam to pull over while Sam was trying to shove his brother away and still keep the car on the road.

 

“That’s not an order, is it?” she asked dryly.

 

“No, just a humble request.”

 

“Good, because if they fight the entire way, I just might have to kill them myself.”

 

Dad just laughed.

 

~*~


	7. Chapter 7  Homecoming

Dean liked Metallica. Oh boy, how he liked Metallica. Of all the people in the world who liked Metallica, Dean had to be the foremost. Because not only did Dean like Metallica, he liked it to the point of almost-obsession. He liked it so much that he refused to let her, or anyone for that matter, change the tape or even turn on the radio, no matter how many times they threatened him. Driver picks the music, he says, passenger shuts their pie hole. Nice philosophy, not terribly original, but directly to the point.

 

Willow hated Metallica. She knew it was a bold statement to make, especially since she wore a shirt that had their name blazoned across her chest in sparkly silver writing, but it was one she stood by. She wasn’t sure if she had always hated Metallica. Certainly during her life in Sunnydale, she never sat down and ever thought to herself, ‘hey, I hate Metallica’. Actually, her life in Sunnydale didn’t leave her much time to reflect on what kind of music she liked or hated. Too many demons, essays, apocalypses, and exams to worry about. But still, now that she had enough time to think about it, she knew that in her heart it was as true as it could be.

 

Willow hated Metallica. She was sure that even before her reverse amnesia that she hated Metallica. If she wasn’t so worried about her friends and the fact that she was missing the past three years of her life, she would take Dean’s collection of tapes and throw them out the window.

 

Actually, she might do that anyway.

 

Willow sighed and shifted in her seat, the grimace on her features giving away her dislike for the current situation. The backseat had been a little better than the front. First of all, there was more room for her to lie down and kind of wallow in her own misery. She suspected that was the reason that Dean and Sam made her move to the front in the first place. Sure, they said it was because Dean needed to sleep before he took over driving duties, but she saw through it.

 

Secondly, the back speakers of Dean’s car were on the fritz, which meant she didn’t have to listen to the full force of Dean’s music selection. Up front, the speakers worked, and Dean had a penchant for turning the volume way up so that he could two things. Rock and sing along with the music, which she assumed helped him pass the time, and make enough noise so that Sam would get very little rest in the backseat.

 

The man was evil, as was his taste in music.

 

She might have had a better opinion of Metallica if Dean ever changed the music to another band. She knew he had a variety, though most of them were 80s rock bands. But still, a full day and a half of listening to Metallica, Willow was willing to give anything else a shot. Hell, she’d listen to one of Spike’s Sex Pistols albums right about now.

 

And there, she had done it again. She was back to thinking about the past and remembering that her friends were missing. Crap. She had managed to go a whole ten minutes without obsessing about it this time. But now she was back to obsessing and worrying and damn near close to pulling all her hair out in frustration.

 

Rhona said they had taken off with the Roman squad because they had gotten a lead on her. What the hell did that mean? Why were they looking for her in Europe anyway? Or maybe it wasn’t her that they were after? Did they find the person responsible for this? Some of it might make sense if they did. If they had managed to find the person responsible for her magical amnesia and somehow gotten to him or her to lift it, that would explain her current situation. But it wouldn’t explain why no one had heard from them in three days. If they had gotten the original spell caster, didn’t that mean they won? Then what reason would they have for not being in touch for so many days?

 

There was another possibility, one she didn’t want to consider but that had been haunting her thoughts for a while now. Maybe they did find the person responsible for this. Maybe they did fight this person in order to reverse the damage of the spell. But maybe they hadn’t been as successful as she was praying they had been. Maybe they hadn’t won. Maybe no one had won. Maybe it turned out to be a huge catastrophe and everyone died, including the mysterious spell caster. Maybe his or her death meant the end of the spell, which was why she woke up and remembered who she was and promptly forgot her husband and new family. Maybe the Scoobies had died fighting to find her. Maybe they were all gone and it would be all her fault. Maybe-

 

She jumped when she felt a warm hand cover the left hand she had been using to wrench and twist her seatbelt. Willow turned her head and saw Dean, still singing along with his music (only quieter than before) and eyes focused on the road ahead. But his hand was taking hold of hers, prying her fingers loose of the poor seatbelt and linking his fingers through hers. She blinked and stared stupidly at their joined hands for a second. His thumb was warm and gentle as it rubbed the back of her hand, fingers squeezing hers for a second before relaxing.

 

It was a gesture of comfort, and it damn near made her cry. Oh boy, she was in trouble with these Winchesters. She reacted too strongly to their every action, even more so in Dean’s case. She worried briefly that they had too much of an effect on her. If she got too used to this, and then it disappeared, she knew it could break her heart into a million little pieces. Willow wasn’t too sure she liked that feeling. On one hand, it was nice to have someone who wanted to comfort her. But Dean didn’t know the full story. He knew nothing about her because she couldn’t remember any of it to tell him. They hunted demons and nasties for a living. She had a dark past, one that might qualify her to be one of those nasties. Sure they knew her to be the Council’s mega-witch, but how many details did they really know? Would the love and the comfort be there if they knew them all?

 

This line of thinking was depressing. Any line of thinking depressed her. It would always spiral down into the things she didn’t want to dwell on, and that left her more apprehensive than before. The fact that she cared about how the Winchesters would react to the truth of who she was and what she had done scared her a bit. She had two families to worry about now, whether or not she remembered how she got the second one. Dad had said it with absolute conviction before. ‘You’re my daughter’, he said, like it didn’t matter that she wasn’t who she had been when he first decided to adopt her. What would he say about what she had done in the past?

 

Two families and she was in danger of losing them both.

 

Dean’s hand squeezed hers again, harder this time than the last. She looked up at him, her face expectant. “You need to relax,” he advised her, eyes still on the road. His voice was hushed, which she found surprising. He wasn’t one to hush up very often. Maybe he decided this conversation needed to private, and so bellowing loud enough to wake Sam up yet again wasn’t an option. Of course, once Sam realized his brother’s obnoxious yelling had petered out, he would wake up instinctively. Sadly, he had gotten so used to Dean’s voice that it had become the background noise he needed for sleep.

 

And how she knew that, she didn’t know. Well, she knew, she just didn’t want to worry about it right now.

 

“It’ll be okay,” Dean continued to say, thumb tracing patterns on the back of her hand once more.

 

Willow sniffled and brushed away the few tears welling up in her eyes. “You don’t know that,” she replied, her tone almost accusatory.

 

“Yeah, I do,” he returned, a small smile on his face as he spoke. “You may not remember it, but there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do to make things turn out okay for you. Same goes for Dad, and for Sammy. Winchesters take care of their own.”

 

“I’m not the same girl you took in before,” she reminded him sadly.

 

Dean snorted, and she couldn‘t help but feel a little offended. “If you weren’t the same girl, you wouldn’t be in this car,” he told her straight. “Never, ever think that I loved some half of you that’s hidden. I love all of you, even the parts you couldn’t remember. If I ever thought, even for a second, that you weren’t worth it, for me or my family, I would have left you on the side of the road days before I picked up Sammy from school. No ifs, ands, or buts about it. So you take that little paranoid voice whispering bad things in your ear and tell it shut the fuck up. You’re a Winchester, you’re my wife, and things are going to be okay because I won’t let them be anything but.”

 

His words stunned her. She knew he believed everything he said. And yet, there was something inside of her that wanted to push it, to see if it was real. “I did bad things once,” she confessed before her brain could tell her to shut up. “Real bad.”

 

Dean sighed, eyes sliding over to his side mirror as he changed lanes. “I know,” was what he finally said.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“I said, I know,” he repeated himself, sounding very nonchalant for someone who claimed to know. “We all know, to a certain extent. We’re not stupid Willow. Dad wasn’t even going to take you in, until Missouri told him to. She said stuff about a dark taint of magic, or something to that effect, but she also said that it wasn’t the real you. The real you was good, wanted to always be good, and might spend a lifetime in the pursuit of good. Notice how I said in the pursuit of ‘good’. Not happiness, ‘good’. You would have been perfectly content to leave happiness behind if you could spend your life punishing yourself for whatever happened.”

 

She chose not to comment on that last part. “Who is this Missouri woman? And why do you three seem to think that she hung the moon?”

 

That made him laugh. “Well, maybe she did, wouldn’t put it past her. Missouri is a psychic from our hometown. And she’s a strong enough psychic that we tend to trust her when she says something. And she told Dad that the only place you needed to be was with us.”

 

Willow frowned. “If she’s that strong of a psychic, why didn’t she just look inside my head, figure out who I was, and solve this mystery from the start?”

 

“Because she couldn’t,” this was mumbled from the back. Willow turned around, a sheepish look on her face as she saw that Sam was pretty much wide awake. She should have left Dean to his singing. Sam hardly got enough sleep as it was.

 

“Sorry.”

 

He shrugged it off. “Not a big deal. But back to Missouri, and the fact that she couldn’t tell who you were.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“She said it was like there was this vault in your mind, that was keeping everything inside,” Dean picked up for his brother. “She didn’t have the right combination, and she didn’t know who did. She couldn’t get anything specific, so she did some general sweeping. Maybe checked out your aura or whatever the hell she does when she’s not eavesdropping on direct thoughts.”

 

“Be nice,” Sam warned him. “Or she’ll have that spoon ready for you the next time we stop by.”

 

“Oooh,” Dean said mockingly, adding a dramatic shake of his shoulders to emphasize his lack of caring.

 

“So, the psychic lady said there’s a vault in my brain that she couldn’t crack open, but did a spiritual background check that convinced her that I was on the up and up?”

 

“And that you needed to go with Dad,” Dean added. “She was pretty damn insistent on that part. You needed to be with us. She didn’t say why, just that it was the best thing for everyone.”

 

Willow shook her head. “Well, not the weirdest thing I’ve ever heard. She didn’t try to make any prophecies, did she? I hate prophets. They always mix up the message, either by accident, or on purpose. I’m not sure which is worse.”

 

“She’s not a prophet, I don’t think,” Sam murmured. “At least, she never said she was. Just Missouri, your friendly neighbourhood psychic.”

 

“Point is, we knew a bit about what we were getting into right from the start, and we chose not to care,” Dean continued.

 

“Well, Dad knew a bit about it, and he chose not to care,” Sam corrected him. “But when we found out, we also didn’t care. Well, we cared, but not in the way that would have resulted in you being left on the side of the road.”

 

“I think the moral of the story is, people make mistakes,” Dean finished. “And considering the stories we’ve heard about the Council’s mega-witch, your mistakes are a bit harsher than others, but-”

 

“But we know that you aren’t evil,” Sam interjected. “And that counts for a hell of a lot more than you know.”

 

If this kept up, Willow was going to be a sobbing mess by the time they got to Cleveland. She turned her head away from both brothers, gazed straight out the passenger window, and fought back the tears. “That’s awfully understanding of you.”

 

“Well, what can we say,” Dean replied in an overly cheerful voice. “We Winchester men are great like that.”

 

It made her laugh, and she shook her head at his behaviour. The man was absurd. But he was kind, and he loved her. He loved her like she hadn’t been loved in a long time. He told her the truth, right to her face. He didn’t try to sugar coat anything. He said what he thought, and then proceeded to flirt shamelessly if that thought was taken the wrong way. Utterly charming, totally dedicated, and completely in love with her.

 

And he held her hand when she really needed it.

 

He’d be perfect if it wasn’t for the Metallica.

 

~*~

 

The rest of the trip to Cleveland was quiet, but comfortable. Dean still played his Metallica, though Willow managed to get him to turn down the volume so that the car didn’t shake along with the beat. Sam managed to get two hours more of sleep before he switched with Willow. He suggested that she rest up before the big homecoming. She could tell that he only wanted her unconscious so that she wouldn’t be able to obsess about things any longer, and so he and Dean could talk about what lay ahead in Cleveland. So she pretended to go to sleep and eavesdrop on them, which they probably knew because they raised their voices just high enough so that she could hear them without straining.

 

Apparently, Sam was excited about the Slayers. Not in the perverted, a whack of ‘young-flexible-girl-flesh’ way that Dean suggested, but in the way of someone who was actually curious about them. He wanted to learn more about them, see them in action, and check out the Watchers and what they did-and a whole lot of other stuff that had Dean calling him a nerd before ending the conversation.

 

There were about three more stops, twice for gas and once for food, and then bam! Eight hours had passed and they were driving through the streets of Cleveland. She was back in the front by this point, only now Sam was driving while Dean got some sleep. They had switched just two hours ago, and not with Dean’s consent. He wanted to drive the rest of the way, be right up front with Willow when they got there. But Sam and Willow insisted, and got him to relent by using the logic that Willow might need him in the next coming hours, and that if he wanted to help her, it would better to be rested than falling asleep on his feet.

 

Whatever feelings of warmth and ease that Dean and Sam had lulled her into during the two day trip vanished the second Sam needed directions to the HQ. She gave them haltingly, often lost in memories and other random thoughts that distracted her. The fear she had managed to ignore for the better part of two days came back with a vengeance. In her mind’s eye, she could see her friends, see their faces, and almost hear their voices. She remembered so many little things in those last twenty minutes of the ride, all of which brought tears to her eyes. By the time they pulled up in front of HQ’s gates, her heart pounded thunderously in her chest and her stomach churned unceasingly.

 

Sam pulled up to the gates, rolled down his window, and pressed the intercom button. He exchanged some words with the person on the other end, but she couldn’t make them out for the life of her. Her mind was racing with images of her friends, and horrible ideas of what could be happening to them at the very moment. She barely even noticed when the gates swung open and they began to move forward again.

 

As before, it was Dean’s touch that brought her back to herself. He laid a hand on her shoulder and gave it a squeeze, startling her out of her thoughts. There was a few seconds of confusion before she understood what she was seeing in front of her. They had pulled up to the front of the complex, and the lobby doors were opening with several girls emerging. She recognized a few of them, noting the changes three years had made. For some, it was very little, and for others it was drastic. Girls she had left as scared, untrained children emerged from the doors as confident young women. The change moved her, and depressed her at the same time.

 

She had missed so much.

 

“Come on,” Dean whispered to her. “Can’t sit in the car forever.”

 

“We can’t?” she asked, her voice faint.

 

“Well, we could, but it would be hard. Showering would be out of the question and as for the call of nature . . .” he trailed off and flashed a devilish sort of smile. “Come on, Willow. You know you want to go to them.”

 

And she did. On some deeper level, underneath all the fear and the regret, she just wanted to be out there with them. She needed to be out there with them.

 

It took a little more pushing from Dean before she was physically able to move herself out of the car. Sam had opened the door for her, and was offering her helping hand out of the vehicle. She took it, not because she needed the help getting out, but because the touch comforted her and allowed her to focus on what was in front of her.

 

Dean scrambled out of the car mere seconds after her. He dusted himself off, gave the approaching people a semi-threatening stare, before grabbing her free hand and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. It was nice to be able to lean up against him, especially when her legs felt too shaky to be able to handle her weight. She might pass out before this reunion ever got off the ground.

 

The group of girls came to a stop just in front of them, most of them silently appraising the new arrivals. After a minute or so of that, they parted and cleared a path so that someone from the back could come to the front. Willow almost cried when she saw who it was. Just the sight of the familiar face brought some strength back to her. She pushed away from Dean and released both their hands as she stepped forward, arms already outstretched to greet her friend.

 

“Willow!”

 

“Hey Kit.”

 

~*~


	8. Chapter 8  Back From The Dead

“Husband?”

 

Kit looked absolutely shocked. When Willow had actually made the announcement, the girl’s jaw had dropped, much like they do on cartoons. It would have been funny, if the situation wasn’t so damn bizarre.

 

Willow managed a weak smile and gave a sheepish shrug of the shoulders. “Yeah, but it’s complicated,” she assured the younger woman.

 

“Complicated,” Kit repeated with a quick nod of the head. “Queen of the understatement, much?”

 

“We’re still here, you know?” That came from Dean, who hadn’t been involved in the conversation for a whole five minutes and therefore decided to interject before he started to feel left out. Her husband had this slightly unhealthy need to be the centre of attention, or at least in charge of the discussion, particularly when the discussion was about him.

 

“Yes, you are,” Kit gave him a patronizing kind of smile before turning back to Willow. “Seriously, him? Husband? Is this some sort of weird Scooby homecoming joke tradition that I don’t know about?”

 

Willow shook her head, but said nothing. Dean was already fuming, and Sam looked about ready to burst into giggles. Sure they were bound to be manly giggles, but giggles nonetheless. Her eyes slid past her brother-in-law to sweep across the inside of the lobby. HQ hadn’t changed much in her absence. Still the same pale green colour, with hard-wood floors, large windows to let in the sunlight, and swarms of people rushing to and fro.

 

After greeting her, most of the welcoming committee had dispersed, no doubt running off to class or research sessions. Cleveland wasn’t as much a problem as the Sunnydale Hellmouth, but it was still the main office for the American East Coast, and therefore it was usually hopping. Most girls had no more than a few minutes to spare for greeting her, and Willow received a tremendous amount of Slayer-sized hugs in a short span of time. Her ribs were still kind of sore.

 

Some had stayed, and were acting as their escorts. Kit, the only non-Slayer of the bunch, had done most of the talking. The others were busy checking out her companions, partly to gauge their threat level and partly because Sam and Dean were very nice to look at. Poor babies weren’t even aware of the trauma that awaited them when the horde of teenage girls developed the inevitable crushes that came with the introduction of cute guys to the environment. However, those were issues that could be dealt with at a later time. There were far more important things that needed to be dealt with.

 

“Where’s Rhona?” Willow asked suddenly. “I thought she would be out here.”

 

Kit faltered a bit, but recovered quickly enough. The young Watcher-in-Training had a lot to learn before she was assigned to a Slayer, but she had a handle on that whole grace-under-fire thing. “Rhona isn’t here,” Kit replied evenly, turning around and walking towards the elevators. Willow followed, Sam and Dean not too far behind, with three Slayers on their heels.

 

“Where did she go?” Willow demanded as she stepped into the elevator with Kit.

 

“She and a group of others already left for Rome,” Kit admitted, waiting until everyone was on board before pressing the button for the top floor. “They’re trying to retrace Buffy’s steps, hoping to find out something. It’s been almost a week now.”

 

Dean’s hand found hers almost immediately, and she squeezed it hard for a second as she tried to reign in her emotions. Pushing aside the hysterics she wanted to have, she continued questioning Kit. “What happened there? Who went? Why did they go? And what was waiting for them?”

 

“Loaded questions, Willow,” Kit told her. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

 

“Start with the ‘Who’ question,” Dean suggested, though his tone implied it was more of an order than a suggestion.

 

Kit spared him a glare before giving Willow that ‘are-you-serious’ look again. “Just answer the question, please?” Willow begged her.

 

From the look on her face, Kit didn’t want to be the one to tell her. But since the Slayers weren’t talking, the Junior Watcher knew there weren’t many options. “Well, Buffy went in with the first wave. She had Xander and Giles with her, and they all headed up a squad of about three Slayers each. Faith led the second raid; Robin and Vi were her support leaders. Andrew and Dawn were responsible for setting up a temporary camp and organizing the mission from there. They were in contact with all six squads, and had about three other Watchers helping them with organization, strategy, and communication. It wasn’t a recon sort of mission. They had already done that before. It was meant to be an extraction mission.”

 

“What were they extracting?” Sam interrupted. Kit gave him a weird look, like she wasn’t sure she should be talking about this in front of either of the brothers.

 

“Listen, it’s okay to talk in front of them,” Willow assured the girl. “They’re here to help.”

 

“How do you know that?” Kit asked her in a low voice, even though it would have been impossible for Dean and Sam not to hear. “You’re saying you don’t remember anything about the past three years. How can you be sure?”

 

It was a good question, but not one that Willow could formulate a coherent response to. She didn’t have any proof, just the overwhelming feeling that she could trust them, and that they were worthy of that trust. “I just am,” she finally said. “It’s weird, I know, but it’s true. They’re family.”

 

Whatever Kit was going to say was interrupted when the elevator’s bell rang to let them know that they had arrived. The doors whooshed open and they all filed out, in pretty much the same order as they had entered. Only this time, Willow was walking between Sam and Dean instead of in front of them. And Dean was still holding her hand.

 

Not to mention grinning like a jackal after her ‘family’ comment.

 

Kit immediately turned to the right and began heading down the corridor. Willow recognized this part of the building. They were heading for one of the meeting rooms.

 

“Kit,” Willow called after her. “You never answered the question. Who were they extracting?”

 

Kit shrugged, but kept moving. Her silence was starting to grate on Willow’s nerves. But before she could open her mouth to let her feelings be known, Kit abruptly came to a stop in front of a closed door. She reached over, turned the knob, and went inside without waiting to see if the others would follow. Willow frowned at the brisk manner in which the Junior Watcher was carrying herself. It was a distinctive change from the warm welcome she had received just ten minutes ago. Either Kit really didn’t trust Sam and Dean, or whatever she had to say was so monumental that she needed privacy before she could begin.

 

More than a little annoyed, Willow followed Kit into the room. What she saw there stopped her right in her tracks.

 

This was the room Rhona had been using, that much was obvious. There were maps hung up on the walls, the large conference table was riddled with papers and tomes, and a large whiteboard stood off to the side, covered in black scribbles. There were dates, names, times, coordinates, and a slew of other things written on that whiteboard, organized in a way that was understandable only to the person who wrote it.

 

“Son of a bitch,” Dean let out a low whistle. She glanced up at him and saw him taking in the chaos with raised eyebrows. “This is worse than one of Dad’s research sessions.”

 

There was a grunt of agreement from Sam as the younger Winchester moved forward to glance at the biggest map of them all, hanging right beside the whiteboard. It was an enlarged map of Rome and the surrounding areas. A single town called Civitavecchia, located just north of Rome, was circled in red felt pen. Sam extended a finger and pointed right in the middle of that circle. “What’s here?”

 

Kit spared the map a glance, and her face darkened. “That’s where the camp was supposed to be set up. Just on the outskirts of town,” Kit sighed despondently. “When we sent people out there, they only found the ruins of the camp. Most of the equipment and papers were gone, whatever was left was torched.”

 

Her words hit Willow like a ton of bricks. Her legs finally gave out, and if Dean hadn’t been there to catch her, she would have hit the floor hard. “Hey, it’s okay,” he whispered in her ear as he guided her to the first available seat. “It doesn’t mean anything. They could have done it themselves, just so the enemy wouldn’t know how much they had figured out. It could have just been a tactical thing. Okay?”

 

She nodded faintly, though she was definitely not ‘okay’ with any of it. Their Slayer escort had slipped out of the room, leaving Kit with the new arrivals and the task of bringing them up to speed. A task that the young woman didn’t feel up to, if the look on her face was any indication.

 

“You all better take a seat,” she motioned Dean and Sam over to the table. Dean was already half-way into the seat to the left of her, and Sam shuffled his way over to the seat on her right. If Kit thought anything of the way the two men flanked her, she said nothing. Only an arched eyebrow gave the impression that she thought it interesting, if nothing else. But she wiped the look from her face quickly, and began shifting through the stacks of papers on her side of the table.

 

“I wasn’t in charge,” she started off. “Not even close. It was one of the older Watchers, that one we found hiding out in Nebraska, Derek that was in charge. Him and Rhona, anyway. They started this about four days ago, when we couldn’t get a hold of any of them. By the second day, it was chaos, we got your phone call, and things were just spiralling out of control. We had all this information, but none of it mattered because we weren’t on the ground. We weren’t there. There were no visuals up until we sent some of down some of the Slayers from Sicily up there. They sent us back news from what was left of the camp site. They didn’t find anything else. So, Rhona and Derek decided they needed to be on the ground, doing whatever searches they could do. They’ve called in some of the Devonshire witches, who are meeting them in Rome. We hope to hear back from them soon.”

 

That last bit was pretty lame, but Kit appeared to be without anything else to say. Sam shook his head at the explanation, which didn’t explain much, and asked again: “What were they extracting?”

 

“Not what, who,” Kit corrected him. “Look, we’ve spent the better part of three years looking for Willow. We threw whatever we had into it. There wasn’t one office in any part of the world that didn’t have at least one person working on the problem. We went to psychics, we went to witches, and we went to seers-Spike even tracked down his green friend Lorne so he could yell at the Powers. There were no answers. It was like you disappeared off the face of the planet. Like you didn’t exist anymore.”

 

That sounded familiar. Too familiar. Willow’s head shot up and she levelled a hard look at Kit. “What did you just say?” she asked, her voice deceptively soft. And Dean, ever present and almost a mind-reader Dean, was there, squeezing her hand and whispering in her ear that she needed to calm down.

 

It took her a few minutes, but she did just that. Kit watched the whole thing with wide eyes, while Sam looked almost bored. “She asked you a question,” Sam prodded her, his tone far nicer than his words.

 

“Yeah, well, it was like you didn’t exist anymore,” Kit repeated herself. “And I guess you made the same sort of conclusion that Buffy and Xander did.”

 

Willow nodded, but then paused. “Wait a minute, that’s not possible,” she said firmly. “I didn’t cast any spells at all. I was on a plane, for crying out loud. And I wasn’t nervous or scared like before, so it’s not like I could do it by accident again.”

 

Dean looked confused. “Huh?” Sounded confused too.

 

“There was this spell I did, once,” Willow explained in a hurry. “Basically made it so that my friends and I were in the same physical dimension, just on different planes of it.”

 

“Okay,” Dean nodded. “Why?”

 

“It was an accident,” Willow mumbled. “I was just anxious, and didn’t feel like facing my friends, and somehow I did it, though I’m not sure how.”

 

“You created two different planes of existence, by accident?” Sam gave her this incredulous look.

 

“Wasn’t called the mega-witch for nothing,” Willow returned sourly.

 

“And getting back to the point,” Kit interjected, even giving a slight wave of her hand to get their attention. “Yeah, we figured that it wasn’t you who did it, because then you would have showed up without being able to see the other Scoobies, and vice versa. But you didn’t, and then we tried all the other magical avenues to try and find you. They just told us you didn’t exist. Best as Giles could figure it, the spell had been magnified nearly a hundred times over. No one with even the slightest bit of magic could find you. Or maybe they did, but they just couldn’t recognize it as you. That sort of thing is hard to do, especially by accident. And to have thwarted every attempt we made to get around it, Giles concluded that someone deliberately did the spell, and was consciously keeping it running strong.”

 

“That’s who they went to extract, right?” Dean asked. “The spell caster responsible for this?”

 

“No, that’s impossible!” Willow shot Kit a disbelieving look. “That sort of thing would require an impossible amount of power, and no human would be able to keep it up for long.”

 

“Maybe it wasn’t human,” Dean replied in a matter-of-fact manner.

 

“Oh, the guy was human, at least all the information we have on him suggests he’s a human, but that doesn’t mean something else didn’t mixed up with him,” Kit raised her hands, palms up, to signify her uncertainty. “But the problem is that we’re not sure if that’s the right spell anymore. The memory loss doesn’t fit in with the same pattern as before. It makes no sense that you forgot who you were, and then woke up and remembered.”

 

“Not to mention forgetting everything in between,” Sam added.

 

“Yeah, and that,” Kit slid into a chair and slumped backwards in defeat. “Add all that to the mix, we were seriously off base with what we thought happened.”

 

“But the ‘who’ might be the same,” Dean offered. “And maybe that’s why when the others went in, something happened to the guy responsible for this, and the memories came back. Maybe they got the sick little bastard.”

 

“Or maybe even destroyed the energy that was supplying the spell,” Kit suggested. “We kind of figured that keeping the spell that strong, whatever spell it turns out to be, would be impossible for one person. Giles figured he had some sort of object that was funnelling or even supplying the magic needed to pull it off. Maybe it was true, and they managed to destroy whatever it was.”

 

“That’s way too many ‘maybes’,” was all Willow had to say.

 

“Yeah, but we do know one thing. Whatever scenario is true, it happened two days ago. Because that’s when everyone got their memories back.”

 

Willow blinked and shot Kit a confused look. “’Everyone’?” she repeated.

 

Kit nodded, eyes dropping to the table where her hands were resting. “You weren’t the only one affected by the spell. Three people were hit in total. You, Agent Riley Finn, and Angel.”

 

Now it was time for Willow’s jaw to drop. “What?”

 

Kit gave her a strained smile. “Gets even better. Angel showed up yesterday, and we got a call from Riley’s wife just hours ago. He’s in Mexico, Angel was in Canada. And you were floating around the US.”

 

“Is that important?” Sam asked.

 

Kit just shrugged, again. “We don’t know. We don’t know anything. The only people who might know are currently MIA, and we don’t even have their res-”

 

Willow had had it. She stood up from the table, tired of hearing that they didn‘t know squat. Dean followed suit, his expression also reflecting frustration with the incomplete explanation Kit offered. Her head was pounding and it took a lot of effort not to freak out right then and there. Though she didn‘t want to admit it, Dean‘s presence at her side was what kept her under control. The pressure of his hand against the small of her back was all she needed to be able to focus her thoughts. And once that was done, there was only one thing she could think to do that might be useful in any way.

 

“Where’s Angel? I need to see him.”

 

~*~


	9. Chapter 9  'Sort Of' A Problem

“I don’t like him.”

 

Sam rolled his eyes and shook his head at his older brother. “Colour me surprised. I thought the two of you were getting on like a couple of old buddies.”

 

Dean sent his brother a glare that could have melted lead. Sam only rolled his eyes again before throwing his duffel bag on the bed closest to the bathroom. His eyes traveled over the room Willow’s friend had led them too, noting with relief that the mattress looked like a human might be able to sleep on it, and there were no mysterious stains on either the carpet or the walls. A quick peek into the bathroom showed a facility that did indeed looked like it had been cleaned in the past month.

 

Sleeping in motels might be easy for their lifestyle, but it sure was good to feel safe about using the toilet again.

 

“I can’t believe she’s friends with him!” Dean growled from somewhere behind him. A quick look at his brother’s face told Sam that Dean had yet to appreciate the cleanliness of their new room. No, from the way Dean was frowning, his face starting to turn an unhealthy shade of red, and the manner in which he threw his duffel bag onto his bed, Sam could tell that Dean was feeling very appreciative of anything right now. And it all had to do with Willow’s other just-off-amnesia friend.

 

A friend who was ‘sort of’ a vampire.

 

Sam wasn’t quite sure it anyone could be a ‘sort of’ vampire. From what his crash course in the subject back when the family had gone after the Colt, he got the impression that being a vampire was an all or nothing situation. But Willow seemed to think otherwise, and she had informed them of this seconds before introducing them to her friend Angel, the ‘sort of’ vampire.

 

To say that Dean was upset with that revelation would be an understatement. But that was nothing compared to what must have been going through his brother’s mind when his wife skipped into the darkened infirmary room (this place had an infirmary that most private clinics would kill for) and right into the arms of another man. Another man she reiterated that was ‘just a friend’ after she noticed the death look Dean was giving him. Well, to be more specific, after Angel had noticed the death look Dean was giving him and mentioned it to Willow. She then first explained to Dean that Angel was a good friend from back when she was in high school, and then explained to Angel that Dean was her husband.

 

Sam thought it was a huge step that Willow didn’t introduce Dean to Angel as her ‘sort of’ husband, and might have brought this up to Dean if he thought his brother was in any way, shape or form, capable of entertaining rational thought. But unfortunately, Dean was long past the arena of rational anything, and it took a lot of Sam’s intervention to keep Dean from doing something that would have upset Willow.

 

“What was with the ‘Willow, we need to talk in private’ bullshit?” Dean’s continuing tirade pulled Sam out of his thoughts. His older brother was now sitting on his bed, viciously yanking his shoelaces out of the knots, and tossing his boots to the corner of the room with more force than was necessary. “Who the hell does this guy think he is? Trying to chase me off so he can mutter something into my wife’s ears-“

 

“Did you even notice the part where Willow said it was okay to talk in front of us?” Sam interjected in his best ‘let’s-not-be-crazy’ voice. It sometimes worked on his brother, and sometimes it didn’t. Willow had her own version of this voice, and it never failed to work on Dean. Unfortunately, Willow wasn’t here and Dean wasn’t in the mood to be ‘not-crazy’.

 

“Who the hell is he trying to shut us out of this?” Dean continued to fume. “Willow’s my wife; this whole thing is most definitely my problem as well. And did you see the way he was glaring at me? Like I was the dangerous creature that Willow was obliviously playing friends with.”

 

“I wouldn’t say anything like that to your wife,” Sam cautioned, though he was starting to suspect that Dean had forgotten his brother was in the room. His brother had worked himself up into a fine state by now, yanking off his shirt and tossing it angrily across the room.

 

“And the rest of these people!” Dean emitted a small growl. Sam arched an eyebrow. His brother just growled. Interesting. “Trying to get us away from Willow. And acting like that’s not what they’re doing. Like I can’t tell the second we were gone they were asking her all sorts of questions. Probably think we’ve got some sort of weird mind control thingy going on. I ought to go back there and-“

 

“Do nothing,” Sam finished for him. “You don’t need to worry about anything. Yeah, they don’t trust us. That’s because they don’t know us. And if we’re honest, we would admit that we don’t trust them that much either. But there’s one thing that’s keeping us all here and away from each other’s throats. Willow trusts all of us. And so, we’re going to have to learn to play nice, because that’s what Willow wants. And more importantly, that’s what she needs. From you, in particular. So calm down and just fess up to the thing that’s really bothering you right now.”

 

Dean’s eyes snapped his way, and that deadly look was back on his brother’s face. “Don’t know what you’re getting at, Sammy,” Dean grumbled, his tone lowering when he uttered his brother’s nickname, as if in warning. “I’m upset because I was just escorted away from my wife, who’s probably still in the clutches of a vampire.”

 

“Considering that’s not quite what happened, I’m going to have to say no, that’s not why you’re upset,” Sam fixed his brother with what he hoped was a reprimanding look. “You need to stop avoiding the issue and making accusations like a child. Willow put all stops to people trying to shut us out, and you know it. Her friends may not like it, or understand it, but they know that she isn’t going to put up with it, and they’re not going to try again. We both know the real reason why you’re upset. Just suck it up and admit it.”

 

Dean’s face had gone almost purple by this point, and if he had any common sense, Sam would have stopped pushing. But he was tired of watching Dean rant and rave, and he knew the only way he was going to get any sleep tonight was to either get his brother to fess up, or make his brother so annoyed that he refused to talk to Sam. Either way, the talking and the screaming and the throwing-it was all going to stop.

 

“Just admit that you’re upset because for the first time in over three years, you aren’t going to be able to sleep with Willow for the night.”

 

There. It was out there in the open now. Let Dean try to deny it. Sam levelled his brother with a smug look, daring him to say something. His brother’s face was still red, though edging away from purple and heading more towards a pink tone. The air had gone out of him; Dean knew there was no use in denying it. That didn’t mean that he was going to give his brother the satisfaction of actually saying he was right, but Sam didn’t need that. The silence was enough to tell him that he was right.

 

“Kind of too old to need a security blanket at night, big brother.”

 

That last part was admittedly, unnecessary. But Sam couldn’t help himself. And therefore, he could hardly blame his brother when Dean picked up one of his boots and chucked it at his head. Sam had the sense to duck, chuckling in a way only a younger sibling could when they had the older one caught in an embarrassing confession.

 

“Dude, shut the fuck up.”

 

That only made him laugh harder.

 

“Dude, seriously. I will mess you up if you don’t shut it.”

 

It was unbelievably hilarious.

 

Another boot came his way, hitting him in the chest because he failed to react right away. It hurt a bit, but not enough to make him stop laughing.

 

“I hate you.”

 

***

 

Willow lay back in her bed, staring up at the ceiling and wondering where sleep had flown off to. It was well past four a.m., and this little witch had had quite enough excitement for the day. The emotional strain of seeing Angel, comparing stories, and still not getting any closer to the truth had worn her out. Also, Rhona had managed to check in before Willow had been escorted off to bed. The Slayer hadn’t any news; only reporting that she had landed and that they should be at the site in the next few days.

 

Angel had been tired, confused, and incredibly relieved to see someone from the old Sunnydale gang. The feeling had been mutual, and though she was kind of embarrassed to admit it, she had kind of forgotten about Dean and Sam whilst caught up in the reunion. She felt bad about it, especially considering she could understand what Dean’s reaction would be to seeing his wife jump into another man’s arms. But her brain had flown off in a few seconds of unbelievable relief at seeing one of her old friends, alive and kicking.

 

Of course, the relief hadn’t lasted very long. Angel had even less of a clue about what was happening than she did, and unfortunately didn’t seemed to be as interested in discussing it as he was in fighting with Dean.

 

Oh, there wasn’t anything obvious about it. There was the occasional glaring, a few tense silent periods, and the subtle changing of subjects when one of the men thought the other couldn’t be trusted with the truth of the situation. Which basically meant nothing important was discussed, though she’s not sure if anything important could be discussed anywhere.

 

Angel was in the same boat as her. The last thing he remembered was heading out to the parking lot of Wolfram and Hart, and then he was in Toronto. He had apparently met up with a woman named Natalie, who had some ideas on the things that went bump in the night. She had figured out what he was before he did, and then had spent the past three years seeing if she could cure him of vampirism. Angel didn’t remember one day of it, and this Natalie woman had been extremely patient and kind when the shit hit the fan, so to speak. Angel said something about calling her before heading off to bed, which had Willow’s interest peaked. But she let it slide, because she knew Angel wouldn’t be any better able to explain than she would be able to explain the Winchesters. Better to put it off until a good night’s sleep could be had and once properly rested, she could face the ever-growing mountain of problems and questions.

 

Only one problem with that whole philosophy; she couldn’t sleep. She had been trying, for well over three hours, and yet she got nothing. And the thing was, she was really tired. Utterly exhausted, if you really got down to it; she should be able to sleep. It was unbelievable that her eyes were still open, especially when her eyelids threatened to drop. But they just didn’t. Every time they got close, some weird feeling would hit her and then sleep would vanish.

 

Willow squirmed in her bed, pushing the covers down her legs and sitting upright. Her eyes traveled the dark room, noting that none of her things had been moved. They had kept it just the same. They knew she was coming back, they had held onto that belief harder than she could have ever imagined. The thought made her chest hurt and tears threatened in her eyes. She was tired, scared, and she needed to sleep.

 

Willow leaned up against her headboard, unable to shake that weird feeling in her stomach. Something was wrong. There was something missing in this whole equation. She wasn’t sure what it was, but she knew that it was the reason why she couldn’t get to sleep. She scrunched up her nose and banged her head lightly on the wall behind her. She so needed sleep, but she wasn’t getting any. It was terribly unfair.

 

Frustrated, she swung her legs around and hopped off her bed. Her slippers were still in the closet, and so was her robe. She threw both on and made her way out of the room. Maybe a little wandering would wear her out enough to force sleep upon her. She wasn’t willing to believe that it would, but she could be optimistic.

 

She shuffled down the corridor of closed doors, hearing the occasional sounds of snoring behind a few of them. Her eyes landed on the door she knew hid Dean and Sam from her view. It took a lot of glaring before Kit agreed to put them relatively close to her room, and neither the Junior Watcher nor Angel had been happy about her insistence on the matter. But she could have cared less at that point. Dean and Sam were staying, and that was that. She was sick of debating that issue.

 

Willow shook her head and chased away the annoying thoughts. She knew the situation was weird, but that didn’t mean she could just agree to shove her new family out the door. The thought of them leaving made her kind of panicked. She couldn’t explain that to Angel or Kit, and she didn’t bother trying. It should have been more than enough that it was what she wanted. But given the circumstances, she could see why they were hesitant. She could see their side of this, but she didn’t quite care. She wanted them here, and that meant they were going to stay.

 

She wondered how much worse the situation would get when Dad arrived.

 

She made her way down the hall, seeing a light on in the Common Room. The dormitory section of the Cleveland HQ was built much like they were in the Harry Potter books, and it wasn’t by coincidence. Dawn had seen the movies, and she figured all private schools should look like that. And when Dawn got ideas in her head, it was usually better to go along with them then to argue. Besides, not too many Scoobies were going to fight her on this one. Everyone loved the Common Rooms. Couches, televisions, books, a coffee machine, a computer bank-it was heaven, especially when one was having trouble trying to sleep. It was somewhere comfy to go and waste time until your body gained enough common sense to go to sleep.

 

She wondered who would be up at this time of night, and immediately figured it was a Slayer, hot off patrol and trying to unwind a bit before heading off to bed. Her mind flitted through the list of Slayers on this floor and felt a smile touch her face. It would be nice to chat with one of the girls. It had been too damn long since Willow had a chance to talk with a Slayer. Thinking that she had been away from them for three years made her heart ache just a bit.

 

Willow turned the corner, all thoughts of Slayers leaving her head as her eyes fell on the figure of her husband. Dean was slumped on one of the couches, flipping aimlessly through channels on the television. The sound was off, so she knew that he wasn’t really watching anything. He was thinking about something, and this channel surfing thing was just something to preoccupy his hands with while he mulled it over.

 

She frowned. That was another thing she shouldn’t know, but still she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was right. Willow rubbed at her temples and wondered when the flashes of déjà vu would disappear and the actual memories return. She was tired of having flashes of recognition that came and went. She wanted something solid to go on. She wanted to remember something real about this man and the past three years with him.

 

“Willow?”

 

She had waited too long in the doorway. He saw her, and there was concern evident in his eyes. He had straightened up and he gave her a quick look up and down, no doubt searching for any sign of injury. She managed a weak smile for him and shuffled into the room to take a seat next to him.

 

“Can’t sleep,” she murmured in explanation. Understanding flashed across his face, and he dropped the remote immediately. He opened his arms, hesitantly at first, and Willow moved into them without thinking of it. It was once she settled down and actually snuggled into his side did she realize that the weird feeling had passed. Her eyelids felt heavier than before. She turned her head upwards and noticed the expectant look on Dean’s face. But she was too tired to say anything. For the first time that night, she felt relaxed and comfortable enough to sleep.

 

Willow rested her head on her husband’s chest and promptly fell asleep.

 

***


End file.
